Soldier On
by This Is Not A Horcrux
Summary: "I'm going to win this thing; we both know it. Doesn't matter how much fight you have, or who you are. If I see you in the arena, I will kill you." I tilt my face up in his direction and give him as much of a smile as I can muster under the circumstance. "Good Luck with that." AU. Rated T for Violence.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

It's snowing again. Little white flakes falling down, coating the ground for the third day in a row. I feel like I can barely recall the last time snow wasn't stuck in every crevice of every crumbling building or torn up road, covering every surface visible or otherwise. I suppress a shiver and pull my jacket tighter around my body as I make my way out of the shop and down the street. I'm already late as it is, having taken longer than I expected preparing Mr. Mellark's order. People rush to get back to their houses, afraid of what will happen if they're late. I pay little attention to them as I hurry down the street leading towards the bakery, keeping my head down to avoid the snow.

My clothes are wet and my teeth are chattering by the time I reach the backdoor of the bakery. I quickly scan the area, making sure there are no Peacekeepers before I knock twice. Mr. Mellark opens the door and takes the package from my hands, muttering a quick thank you and telling me to hurry and get home. He closes the door before I have time to reply, but I can't be bothered with manners in my haste to finish and get home. With that done, I wander back into the flurry, quickly making my way towards the Seam.

I can see Peacekeepers eyeing me as I make my way home, making sure that I'm following the rules and not skipping out on my duties as a citizen of Panem. I force myself to focus on my footsteps as a trudge through the snow rather than the annoyance I feel towards the Peacekeepers. I'm only a few minutes from home when one grabs my arm roughly, pulling me to a stop.

He holds me in place as he begins questioning me and I strain to hear what he's saying over the howl of the wind.

"What are you still doing out here, girl? You should be home for the Viewing," he bites out gruffly. "Are you trying to start trouble?" He punctuates exactly what he thinks the answer is with another rough shake of my body.

"No, sir, I was just heading home now," I quickly reply with a shake of my head. "I've just been slowed down by the storm."

He makes a sound deep in his throat and I can almost see him sneering at me through his helmet. "Don't make excuses, just get a move on. Before I force you to." He shoves me forward, causing me to lose my balance and almost fall over.

"Yes, sir," I respond, gritting my teeth and trying to stop my eyes from narrowing at the man before me. I shove my hands into my pockets and walk away quickly—eager to avoid anything that will bring me to the attention of Thread, the new head Peacekeeper. They're always so aggressive. I'm already giving them what they want; missing a day of work for their required activity, I think bitterly as I run up the steps to my front door and shove it open. The wind howls again, causing flakes of snow to follow me into the house. I turn quickly and slam the door shut. The house fills with silence as the door blocks the howling of the wind.

I kick off my boots near the door and hang my jacket over the back of a chair in the kitchen before I run to my room to change out of my wet clothes. I pull on a pair of pants and a heavy shirt knowing that I wouldn't be able to go back out anytime soon, and I wander back into the main room of the house to turn on the television. I scan the room for my father, but he is absent. In his room, no doubt. I shake my head and move to sit down on the couch, pausing temporarily when I hear the anthem reverberate throughout the room. I take my seat and stare at the screen, restlessness buzzing under my skin as the anthem and the cheers begin to die down.

I bite down hard on my cheek, fighting the surge of disgust that takes over me as President Snow steps up to the podium. A young boy carrying a wooden box follows him on stage as he begins to address his audience.

"Hello citizens of Panem," he calls from his place in front of the Capitol Building. His voice grates on my ears, causing a tingle of fear to move down my spine. "Before we begin the reading of the card for the highly anticipated Quarter Quell, we must first begin with a reminder of why the Hunger Games have come to be—why they are an intricate, and essential, part of the foundation of our great nation." I scoff and roll my eyes, but a round of screaming bursts out in the Capitol when he utters the words "great nation."

He starts with the history of Panem, reminding us all of the Dark Days and the destruction of District Thirteen, leading to the creation of the Hunger Games. Even though the crowd can barely contain their excitement, I block out most of what he is saying until he mentions the Quell.

"When the laws of the Hunger Games were put in place, our leaders dictated that every twenty-five years, the anniversary of Panem's victory over the rebellion would be marked by a Quarter Quell. The annual Games serve as a reminder of what we've overcome, a retribution for past wrongs. But the Quarter Quell is no ordinary Game." The screaming in the City Circle becomes so loud that Snow has to pause and wait for them to die before he can speak again. I roll my eyes when he does, but I can feel the restlessness swelling inside me.

"It is a celebration of our triumph, to keep fresh the memory of those killed by the rebellion."

I narrow my eyes at the mention of a rebellion, the phrase clearly directed towards the aftermath of lasts year's Games. My mind wanders to the victors, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. From what I'd heard in the Hob before they burnt it to the ground, their games have stirred up unrest among the people. Where, I don't know. It may be nothing more than whispers in the mine, but if its true and it's hard not to suspect it is due to the Peacekeepers cracking down here in Twelve President Snow must be extremely unhappy with District Twelve's newest victors.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I turn my focus back to the reading as the president continues his speech. "This great nation deserves only the greatest of celebrations. This year marks the seventy-fifth year since the defeat of the rebels. This year, marks the third Quarter Quell."

I suppress another shiver as a feral grin breaks out across his face. But people in the Capitol seem incapable of containing their excitement, their screams coming through the speakers even though the focus remains on the President. I can't help but be repulsed by the joy they derive from this. This really is just another source of entertainment to them.

Snow breaks into an explanation of the First Quarter Quell, when each district had to elect their tributes. Despite having lived with the Games for my entire life, I feel an acute sense of horror and sadness over this particular Game. To keep yourself together after being reaped for the Games is hard enough as it is, but to hold it together knowing that the people of your own district have volunteered you for the slaughter… I can't imagine anything more difficult.

Snow continues with his speech without even a hint of hesitation or remorse. I can tell he is finding some sick sense of enjoyment from the events he is recalling. "On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

I snort slightly as he utters the words even though I know there is nothing funny about the situation. I shake my head. Although I never watched those games, I know that that was the year that Haymitch Abernathy—District Twelve's only other living victor—won. Haymitch may be a drunk now, but when I consider what that must have been like, I feel a small sense of understanding. As if having to fight twenty-three other kids for your life wasn't already bad enough.

"Now, we honor our third Quarter Quell," Snow says. The little boy who walked on stage with him steps forward and hands him the box that he had been holding. He pulls the lid off and Snow steps forward to remove the envelope marked with a seventy-five. He steps back up to the podium, removing the card from within the yellow envelope and reading, "In compliance with the second Quarter Quell, each district will once again offer up twice the number of tributes to battle against each other in the arena." The crowd yells shrilly.

And on the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that the Panem formed in their defeat stands united, each tribute will be paired with that of another district in a show of goodwill. When half the tributes remain, they will return to the Capital, allowing for the formation of twelve teams. And to show that the Capital and the Districts are equal in effort, the Capital will produce a second arena, for an even playing field where one team will be crowned the Victor of this year's Hunger Games!"

With that final note the screen cuts to Caesar Flickerman, but I can't focus on anything he says. I sit perfectly still for a few minutes, trying to process everything Snow's words. Paired with another district? A permanent alliance? Two arenas? A team will be crowned as the victor.

 _A team_ —meaning two people. I shake my head in disbelief. Has this been the plan all along, written on that tiny card for the past seventy-five years? I don't believe it. It's too much of a coincidence. I know he's playing at something. He has to be. This is letting the districts off too easily for anything else to be the case. The announcement of two victors last year undermined Snow's authority. Twenty-four going in and two coming back proved that the Capitol could be played by their own game. It was the driving force behind all his problems now, if the rumors of rebellion from the mines are to be believed. He has every reason to prevent such a thing from happening again unless it's his justification for the repeat of forty-eight tributes. It's like having two Games in one year. I let out a snort at the thought. And a second arena? Returning tributes to the Capital for a moment's reprieve, just enough to make them relax, before thrusting them back into the bloodbath that is the Hunger Games?

 _Yeah, right. Goodwill my ass._

Still, none of that helps explain the inter-district partnerships. If anything, I would think that the last thing he wants are tributes from different districts working together. The ache in my limbs refuses to be contained. I stand up and begin pacing around the room, trying to figure out what exactly is the point of this year's Quell, because it's certainly not unity. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth as I try to recall past Games. Alliances between different districts never last. How can they when there's only one winner? The Careers are a shining example of this. They work together until the time comes, and then they slaughter each other like it's nothing. My mind flies to the 69th Games, and I immediately feel sick.

 _No, I won't think about it. I came to terms with it a long time ago. Stop thinking about it._

I repeat the thought in my head over and over again. Just focus on what's happening now; Quarter Quell, forty-eight tributes, inter-district partnerships.

I think back to what had been going through my mind earlier about the alliances between Careers. They all want the glory for themselves, surely Snow must know that… I stop pacing and release my bottom lip from between my teeth. That's exactly it. I can't think of any other possible explanation. He knows that the tributes won't be able to trust their out-of-district partner considering most barely trust those from their _own_ district. Chances are they'll betray their partners before they reach the end, especially if they're from a Career district. I suppose that's the point though, considering that's whom Snow would prefer to win. He gets everything he wants out of this; one victor, forty-seven dead children, and turning on your partner when these Games are meant to show unity among the people of Panem, well, that'll just help to crush the spirit of the districts.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts when my front door suddenly swings, blown open by the storm outside. Snow begins flying into the room as I let out a groan and run to shut the door. Pulling the couch in front of it to keep it secure, I turn to survey the damage. The snow in the room is melting, leaving tiny puddles on the floor. The storm outside is worse than it was before, and I can't help but laugh at the irony of it all as I look out the window. There's no escaping it; snow is everywhere.


	2. Chapter 1: Uneven Odds

Chapter 1: Uneven Odds

The scent of blood is nearly overwhelming; so strong that I can practically feel the metallic tang fill my mouth. The smell is inescapable in the sweltering heat and despite my years of working here, the stench of blood still bothers me. I scrunch up my nose, scowling in disgust at the piece of veal in front of me, willing it to cut itself up and save me from the task. After a few minutes of staring, I groan in defeat and grab the butcher's knife from the table in front of me to begin stripping the meat. Maybe if I stab it hard enough the scent will disappear.

I've been working since early this morning. It's a busy day: everyone trying to get in as much business as they can before District Twelve is crawling with Peacekeepers and the whole place shuts down tomorrow. I hack forcefully at the piece in front of me, trying to block out all thoughts of what will happen.

"Now come on, Briar. What did that poor piece of meat ever do to you?"

I look up and see Mr. Fairbain staring at me. His stare is serious, or at least it tries to be. I can see a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

"It decided to have a poor reaction to the heat and now it's trying to suffocate me," I reply, jamming the knife between the meat and the bone and cutting it away. Mr. Fairbain shakes his head, the smile finally making its way onto his face. I glance up as he turns and opens a drawer, pulling out a meat tenderizer.

"You'd think you would've adjusted after what? 5 years?"

I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. "You'd think so, but I swear, the smell just gets worse and worse every day. I don't know how anyone can stand it. And they don't even work with the stuff."

Veal is rare in District Twelve because nobody kills livestock that early if they can avoid it. Not when it can be profitable later. Still, its rareness means it brings in more money than other meats, especially from those in the Merchant Village. The years of working with Mr. Fairbain makes stripping and cutting the meat almost second nature, but I work slowly now: I don't want to risk messing it up and causing the price to drop. I hand the meat over to Mr. Fairbain when I finish.

I stand back and wipe my hands on the apron I'm wearing, watching Mr. Fairbain work. He's not much older than my father, but he moves with a gracefulness I wouldn't expect if I didn't know him myself. I can't help but admire how simple it is for him, despite years of watching him do this very task. One look at the meat and his weathered hands are moving effortlessly, finding the perfect spot to cut—slicing through the meat as if it were as soft as butter. He's been working as the town butcher for as long as I can remember, though I didn't have the chance to meet him until a few years ago. He took me under his wing when I was eleven, when it was clear tesserae and the makeshift jobs I worked in the Hob wouldn't be enough to support me—I still don't really understand why he did it. But while my years of work here have made the task easy for me, it's nothing compared to the absolute grace Mr. Fairbain exhibits when wielding a butcher's knife.

I glance out the window of the shop, surveying the people as they rush around town, working at their own trades. My eyes move to the right and my gaze lands on Katniss Everdeen, who is walking with her sister, Primrose. They seem lost in their own world, a shadow of a smile on their faces as they chat about one thing or another.

I've known Katniss for years as a result of us both being from the Seam, though we've never been anything more than acquaintances. We had both been fixtures in the Hob, her supplying meat and various plants for trade, and I helping to prepare and deliver them. She always brings the best game too, or at least she used to. I rarely see her anymore, not since the destruction of the Hob. Not since Gale was whipped, the Peacekeepers arrived in droves, and she became somewhat of a pariah to those in Twelve. She comes around to Mr. Fairbain's store every once in a while to get meat, but aside from that, we never cross paths.

Still, even though I don't know Katniss well, I can't help but admire her. Not only for what she did for her sister or for surviving the Games, but for the fact that when she returned, she still did the same things she did before going in; she hasn't let becoming a victor completely change her. I guess having someone else come out of the arena with her has helped with that. Gives her somebody who understands, because I doubt anyone who has never been in the Games can even begin to comprehend it. My chest tightens painfully. I don't even try. No matter how close I've been to the Games, I know I can't.

My mind wanders to her fellow victor, Peeta Mellark. We were friendly enough before his Games due to my work in the Merchant Village and his warm nature, but like with Katniss, we've never been close. Aside from when I was in the shop, I never spent much time in town, and he never spent any in the Seam. But even though we don't know each other well, I find that I like him. He has a charm that's hard to ignore. I haven't seen much of him since he won. I frown slightly at the thought.

He moved to the Victor's Village, but his family chose to remain in their house above the bakery. The Mellark's still place some orders with us, though far less frequently than they used to. I don't see why they do at all, it's not like they need it. They have more than enough money since Peeta won the Games. But whatever their reasons, I'm glad to still have their business. Any money I can make saves me from taking out more tesserae. I let out a sharp laugh. With the amount I already have, it's not like one less slip with my name will make a difference tomorrow.

"Something funny, Briar?" I snap my head back to face Mr. Fairbain, who's still tenderizing the meat.

"What? No, why?"

"You were laughing." Oh. I must look like I'm losing it, standing here, doing nothing and laughing at nothing. I shake my head

"I was just thinking about the Reaping tomorrow."

He stops what he's doing and looks at me sharply. Mr. Fairbain knows my situation, and that there is absolutely nothing funny about it. I really shouldn't be laughing.

"Don't look at me like that," I say with a sigh. "We both know that the chances of me getting reaped are high. My name's in the bowl fifteen times, and there are twice the number of tributes." I shrug my shoulders even though the thought makes my stomach feel like its twisting into knots. "Even if I don't get reaped tomorrow, I still have two more years. Who knows what will happen."

He can't deny the truth of my statement.

"Getting reaped isn't really an option though. I mean, what would you even do without me?" I say with a small smirk. "You'd have to train a new apprentice and everything."

He laughs at that, and I feel a little better. "Maybe the next one would be able to handle the smell of blood a little better, huh? It's a useful skill when working with game. Or so I hear," he says with a teasing glint in his eye. "Although, it'd be hard to replace that sharp mind. I wouldn't be able to keep track of anything without you."

I smile again but don't respond. My mind is still focused on the Reaping tomorrow. Mr. Fairbain seems to notice too because he puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me a comforting smile.

"Try not to worry too much about it, kid."

I bite my lip and nod as I finish packing the meat in front of me. "I should probably get going. The last thing I need is Mrs. Mellark coming after me because I was late with her order," I say removing my apron and placing it on the counter.

He gives me another kind smile. "Be careful out there." He's talking about the Peacekeepers, but I know he's not really worried about me getting into trouble. He says it more out of habit than anything.

I grab my bag off the back of a chair and pack the meat away before making my way out of the decaying building, heading down the street towards the Mellark's bakery.

A look at the sun tells me it's about four o'clock. Children are walking around town, taking advantage of the day and having a good time. Well, as good of a time as you can have in Peacekeeper covered District Twelve.

"Two's batch is sure to be good this year," I hear a Peacekeeper say. "It's a guaranteed win."

I roll my eyes as I walk past the pair of them, their white suits gleaming in the summer sun. Figures they have nothing else to talk about. They're either completely oblivious or just completely immune to the fear that's covering every inch of District Twelve. My guess is the latter.

The walk to the bakery is a short one. The smell of fresh bread fills my nostrils and I breathe in deeply. I can't remember the last time I had fresh bread. I take another deep breath. I figure this is as close to it as I'm going to get anytime soon. I snicker as I try to picture what would happen if I asked Mrs. Mellark for a piece of bread. I probably wouldn't make it to the Reaping tomorrow. Maybe asking wouldn't be such a bad idea after all; I win either way.

I walk around back and knock on the door. I can hear the sound of people running around, followed by a loud crash. Mrs. Mellark's sharp voice rings out and suddenly the door is yanked open, revealing a very flustered boy: Callen Mellark. He's blond just like his two brothers, but he's smaller than Peeta, despite being a year older. He stands there staring at me as I look at him and then over his shoulder to find the source of the noise. He coughs lightly to get my attention, and I snap my head back to him. I smile in apology.

"Here's your mother's order," I say hastily, pulling out the meat from my bag and handing it to him.

He nods in thanks and hands me the money. "Before you go, my father was wondering if you'd be willing to drop something off at Peeta's for him. He would go himself, but we're pretty busy preparing for all the incoming Peacekeepers tomorrow."

"Sure, I'm heading that way anyway." It's not the truth, but it saves me from going back to a house with nothing but my father and my thoughts of tomorrow.

"Great. Just wait here a minute."

He's gone and back in seconds. I take the bag from him and he gives me another quick thanks before moving to close the door. I don't know why I do it, but suddenly my hand is reaching out, preventing him from shutting the door. I stand there floundering for a minute as he stares at me expectantly. His gaze is steady, but not wholly unkind as I search for what I want to say.

"I just, uh, wanted to wish you luck… with the Reaping tomorrow," I add the last part quickly, noting the confusion coloring his face. I see understanding fill his eyes and he gives me a small nod.

"You too. Tell Peeta I say hello."

I tell him I will as he closes the door.

Why did I say that? Why did I wish him luck?

Callen and I aren't friends. I can't even say that I particularly like him, and I don't think he's really fond of me either. While Peeta has been always come off warm and pleasant, Callen has always seemed… well, the opposite.

So why did I say it? I know it won't make a difference.

Probably because it's his last Reaping.

I can't help but feel a little jealous as I think about it. His name can't be in the bowl more than a handful of times, and after this year he's done with it. I kick a stone on the path in front of me. Still though, I can't help but hope it works out for him, even if I don't like him much. His family has been through enough. They don't need to sacrifice another son to the Capitol.

I let out a long sigh at my train of thought, unwittingly drawing the attention of a Peacekeeper standing on the side of the road. He stares at me with hard, suspicious eyes as I walk past. He doesn't approach me, though; so I keep my head down to avoid any confrontation.

I come to the entrance of the Victors' Village and take a quick look around. I've only been here once before, when I dropped off some medicine for Mrs. Everdeen, but it was during a particularly harsh winter day, and I was eager to get home. I laugh a little at the reverse of the situation; now it's my desire to avoid going home that has brought me here.

The houses here are nice, far nicer and much bigger than anything I've ever seen in Twelve. I cast a glance at the house to my left, noting the small garden in front. I immediately recognize it as the Everdeen's house. The garden makes it look a lot homier than the others. But it doesn't take much to make a house look outstanding in Twelve, since no one bothers to make their hovels look presentable. What's the point? There's no one to impress.

Peeta's house is directly across from Katniss', something I learned from another required viewing of the Capitol, so I make my way up the front steps and knock.

I stand there for a few minutes, but no one comes to the door. I can't hear anything inside, but I decide to knock again, just in case. I wait again, but nothing. Of course he's not home. I turn to leave, but stop when I suddenly hear a voice call from within.

"Come in! I'll be there in just a second!"

It's a little muffled by the door, but I can tell it's Peeta. I raise my eyebrows even though I know he can't see me. He doesn't even know who's at his door and he's telling me to come in. I shrug and go in anyway. His security, or lack thereof, is not my problem.

I close the door behind me and take in the house. It's plain, similar to the Everdeen's in layout and décor. I'm not really surprised. Peeta never struck me as a flashy guy. I guess even people from the town don't know how to deal with wealth. I can't really imagine spending it on anything other than food.

Peeta steps out from what I assume is the living room only a few moments later, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Briar, what are you doing here?" He looks a little confused, but smiles as he asks the question.

I smile back before replying, "Your dad asked me to drop something off to you. Hold on, it's in my bag.

I reach and pull the baker's bag from within, extending it to Peeta. He hesitates, and it's just then that I notice he has little smudges of color on his face and clothes, and his hands are covered in the stuff.

"Would you mind putting it on the coffee table for me? I'm sort of a mess."

I walk into the living room and my eyes are immediately drawn to what I assume is the painting he's currently working on. It's beautiful. It's a painting of a lush forest during night. There's a fire in the left-hand corner, a little girl warming her hands over it. I squint slightly as I scan over the painting. There's something gleaming from between the trees. A knife, I realize. It hits me suddenly what this is. It's a painting of the Games. His Games, specifically. I remember it from last year. The little girl too tired and too cold to think properly: to be smart enough not to light a fire in the middle of the night. It cost her her life.

I swallow and tear my gaze away, looking over the rest of the room. There are paintings everywhere. Some of the Games, some of District Twelve, and some of Katniss: every one just as beautiful as the last. Even the ones of the Games, I note—in their own gruesome sort of way.

"Did you do all of these?" I ask as I place the bag on the table in front of me. He nods.

"They're incredible, Peeta," I say as I scan over them once more. "I always thought that the Victor talent thing was more for show than anything, but you're really good."

He smiles slightly and mumbles a thank you. I think he feels uncomfortable, because he quickly changes the subject.

"Sorry you had to come all the way down here," he says with a shake of his head. "I don't know why my dad insists on sending me bread now. It's not like I'll be around to eat it with the Games coming up."

There it is again: the Games. Never too far from conversation. Not that I'm surprised. It's a hard thing to keep from your mind. I imagine it's even harder for someone like Peeta. Judging by the paintings, I'd bet they're on his mind all the time.

My silence seems to make him think he's said something wrong, because he looks ready to apologize, but I beat him to it.

"Oh right, you're a mentor now," I say. "Are you looking forward to it?"

It's probably a stupid question, because I don't know how anyone could be excited about that. Well, unless you're a Career, I guess. But Peeta's no Career.

"It'll certainly be a new experience, that's for sure. Haymitch will be coming with us to show us the ropes though." His words don't answer my question, but his face betrays how he really feels. He's not looking forward to it at all. I almost don't envy his situation.

Almost.

"At least you're out of the Reaping though," I say. "Maybe you can even stop Haymitch from falling off stage this year," I add as an afterthought.

He chuckles, and says, "Yeah, last year was… Let's just hope he's a little more sober this year."

He stops talking and a thoughtful expression covers his face. I can tell he's debating whether or not he should say what's on his mind. His curiosity wins out.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" he asks, but all I hear are the underlying questions, the ones that everyone wants to ask, but hardly ever do. How scared are you? How many times is your name in the bowl? What will you do if you get reaped?

It's an impossible thing to answer, so I don't bother trying. I shrug. "I guess I'm as ready as I can be," I say, pursing my lips and hoping that it helps cover up the fear I feel on the inside. "I guess we'll just have to wait and see if the odds are in my favor." I say the last part in the ridiculous Capitol accent, earning a small smile from Peeta.

We continue talking for a while after that, but neither of us bring up the rule changes of the Quell, or how it hurts my chances of not getting reaped, or how during his first year of mentoring he'll have to watch four tributes die—three, if he's lucky. Instead we talk about mindless things, but the conversation turns stilted, both of our minds on tomorrow's Reaping. There isn't much left to say, neither of us know much about the other, so I decide it's time to head home. Peeta thanks me again for bringing the bread and bids me goodbye at the door.

It's beginning to get dark now, but the stifling heat from earlier remains. It makes me feel disgusting, and I pick up my pace. I slow after a while though—once I realize that getting home won't make much of a difference. It's not like I have air-conditioning. Or twenty-four hour electricity, for that matter.

I'm left mostly to my own thoughts on my walk to the Seam, the streets having been long deserted by anyone with a home to get back to. Even most of the Peacekeepers have gone elsewhere. Likely to shine their suits and clean their weapons for tomorrow.

Got to look great for the Capitol, I think with a roll of my eyes.

I make it home a few minutes later, the walk being entirely uneventful, for which I'm thankful. I scurry up the front steps and walk inside, locking the door behind me. I'm relieved to find that my father hasn't returned from the mines yet. I really don't have the energy to deal with him.

The main room is hot—almost hotter than outside—so I open the windows and go to change into something cooler. I wash the filth from my skin over a tub in the corner of the room before I pull out a t-shirt and a pair of pants from the lone dresser and put them on. I have to resist the urge to just collapse onto my bed and sleep through tomorrow.

Instead, I shuffle my feet towards the kitchen to make dinner. I scan through my shelves as if I actually have choices. Facing the inevitable, I pull out a small pot and fill it with water, placing it on the stove to heat up. I add some leftover squirrel from yesterday, as well as a few vegetables that I bought from town this morning.

It's a different variation of the same meal: watery soup with whatever meat or vegetables I can scrounge up that day. The monotony of Twelve perfectly presented in food form. The water in the pot and the gas on the stove are only possible now due to the purchase of tesserae, and not for the first time, I wonder if it was worth it. The rational part of me knows I would have never survived this long without it, but with tomorrow's Reaping looming over everything, I can't help but regret the decision.

I wonder if this is how she felt before her Reaping; the feeling of the floor dropping out from under her, the pit of dread burrowing itself into her chest, the sinking feeling of inevitability. I don't remember ever seeing her scared, but I've never been as scared as I am now either. Maybe she was just really good at hiding it.

My thoughts are cut short when I hear the sound of sizzling. I look down at the pot and rush to pull it off the makeshift stove as the water boils over the side. I let out a hiss as the scalding metal burns my hand. I groan lightly as I look my hand over. The line is red and thick across my palm, the blister already rising on the surface. I know I should treat it. Instead, I squeeze my hand into a fist until the pain radiates down my arm. Then I squeeze tighter.


	3. Chapter 2: Ripped from the Seam

**Chapter 2: Ripped From the Seam**

The morning comes quicker than I thought possible, and I rub my tired eyes in annoyance as the sun filters into the room. I had spent the whole night tossing and turning, unable to keep my mind off of the Reaping, which would be taking place in just a few hours. Every time I closed my eyes I was met with images of six years ago, except this time it was my name that was called, a nervous version of myself shuffling up to the stage as the fear threatened to overwhelm me.

I let out a groan, and pull myself into a sitting position. It's pointless to think like this. I think back to what Mr. Fairbain said to me yesterday.

 _There's nothing I can do to change what today's outcome will be. It's out of my hands._

I swing my feet over the side of my bed and make my way over to my dresser, pulling out my outfit for today. It's a simple green dress, but it's undoubtedly the nicest thing I own. I roll my eyes and sneer in disgust as I look down at the piece of clothing in my hands.

It's sick; the way we're forced to dress up for these people, as if the Reaping is some sort of celebration rather than a death sentence. As if changing how we look, cleaning us up and making us look pretty, will suddenly make this all okay— will make sending children to their death okay. I change out of my clothes and pull the dress over my head.

 _Only the best for the Capitol_.

I grab a pair of brown flats from next to the dresser and put them on before grabbing my hair and pulling it into a low bun. I make my way over to the mirror on the far side of the room, inspecting myself to make sure I look presentable.

I look ridiculous—fake. But I guess that's how the Capitol wants me. I heave out a sigh and turn away. _Oh well, this is good as it's going to get._

I begin to make my way out of the room when something catches my eye. On top of my dresser lays a simple, worn leather bracelet—one I haven't thought about in a long time. For years I had worn it, putting it on as soon as it was placed in my hands and never taking it off. I had it on me everywhere I went, not matter what I was doing. It provided me with a feeling of comfort that I couldn't find anywhere else. But Mr. Fairbain had suggested I remove it the day I had starting working for him, stating that it might get ruined—stained by the blood. So I took it off, and I couldn't bring myself to put it back on. The comfort it had brought me suddenly turned into a burden that I couldn't afford to bear. But now, with thoughts of today weighing heavily on my mind, I find myself reaching out to grab the strip of brown leather, wrapping it around my wrist and securing it there.

The sense of calm I feel is almost instantaneous, but I know it's only a minor reprieve. This little piece of leather won't do me any good, just as it didn't for her seven years ago. But still, I feel a little better for having it on.

Feeling slightly calmer, I make my way into the kitchen. My father is sitting at the table. I give him a small nod in acknowledgment, and begin preparing a small meal.

"Remember, the Reaping starts at two," I say quietly from my place at the counter.

He grunts. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be there."

We don't say anything else, so I sit and eat my breakfast quickly before heading out, beginning my Reaping day ritual. We don't hug or say any comforting words to each other as I walk out the door. I'm sure he's one of the few people here that's not worried about today. He's far more concerned about himself and the money he can make.

I take in my surroundings as I make my way through the Seam. At first glance, it looks the same as it does everyday: the same way it will look tomorrow, and the day after that, and most likely for the next few years. But the lack of people milling around, opting instead to stay home with their family for what could very well be the last time, reveals the truth. These people are terrified.

None of it makes much of a difference though. When the Reaping is over and done with, people will mourn the loss of one of their own, and then when sun rises tomorrow, everything will go back to the way it was before. It's depressing to think about, the fact that even if someone from the Seam gets reaped, nothing will change. The intensified anxiety that everyone is feeling today will be placed on the back burner, simmering under the surface until the next Reaping, and the one after that, and the one after that.

I'm lost in my own thoughts, not even realizing that my feet have carried me away from the Seam and into town. I walk past what used to be the Hob. The Peacekeepers of District Twelve used to look the other way when it came to the black market, many of them were even regular customers, but that is not the case anymore, not since they destroyed it, not since Twelve became flooded with them. My walk here has been short, but I've already seen more Peacekeepers than usual, a newly delivered bunch straight from the Capitol. Usually the Peacekeepers stationed here on Reaping day just look at the people of District Twelve with varying degrees of disgust or indifference, but not these ones. Their eyes are narrowed, looking at us like we are some sort of threat. I briefly wonder if they've increased presence as a result of last year's Games, wanting to keep everyone in line as much as possible. One particular group I walk past seems ready to pounce over the most minor of infractions, so I assume my guess is correct.

They watch me as I go by, but seem to determine that I'm not a possible threat because they turn their eyes to the few other people wandering about, appraising them. I face forward and continue my walk in peace, moving farther and farther away from town.

I stop when I come to a small clearing, and lie back on the grass, just as I have done on every Reaping day for the past four years. It's a ritual that my mother had started with my sister long before I was of Reaping age, one that I can't help myself from continuing.

She intended for it to be calming, to find a moment of peace before all the chaos begins and the paralyzing sense of dread takes over. I tilt my head back and watch as the clouds pass by. I'm sure if my mother were here she'd tell me to focus on the fact that it's a beautiful day. And I try to, I really do, as I lay there soaking up the heat, the sun beating down on me. But I know that when people remember today, it won't be because of the weather.

I clench my fists at my sides and will myself to remain calm, resisting the urge to scream. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, relaxing as some of the tension slips away.

I let my head loll to the side, keeping my eyes closed and my mind blank. I don't know how long I lay there, taking in the sounds of the forest in front of me and the light breeze blowing across my skin. After what feels like only a few minutes, though I suspect it to be more, I glance back up towards the sky. The position of the sun suggests that it's around one, meaning that it's time for me to head back into town. I can't seem to make myself move though, so I continue laying there until a horn sounds from the square, indicating that the Reaping will begin in a half an hour. Sighing, I push myself up off the ground and dust myself off, heading towards the Hall of Justice. It's really an ironic name when you think about it.

The square is crowded but relatively quiet, the only sounds that can be heard are the scraping of people's shoes against the gravel and the faint voice of the Peacekeepers in charge of checking us in. The mood is solemn. It's the same feeling that overcomes Twelve every year on Reaping day.

Parents stand all around the perimeter, worry marring their features as their children file in. Everyone looks cleaner than normal; each child bathed and dressed in their nicest outfits, just as I am. I briefly wonder if they all feel as ridiculous as I do, but it's impossible to tell when I can see nothing but wide eyes and shaking figures.

I glance through the crowd of people. I spot my father near the train tracks, looking positively bored. I shake my head and scan the group again, my eyes stopping their movement when I spot Mr. Fairbain standing along the far wall to the left of me. He doesn't have any children, but like all citizens of Panem, he is required to attend the Reaping. Unlike some of the others who have nothing at stake today, he never places bets on who will get reaped. He says it's cruel, and too great of a risk, but not everyone feels the same way he does. I wonder how many people have bet on me.

Mr. Fairbain's mouth is pulled down and his eyebrows are furrowed, but he sends me a small smile when he notices my gaze. It only lasts a few seconds before his face quickly morphs back into a melancholy expression. I can tell he's worrying over me, just as he has done every year since he took me under his wing. I know there isn't much I can do to make him feel better, but I try to return the smile anyway. I'm pretty sure it looks more like a grimace.

I face forward again as I'm pulled into the check-in line with the other children waiting to be herded towards their designated section. There is no pushing or shoving from the people in line. Everyone stands stiffly as they wait for their turn. From where I'm standing I can see many of the sections are already packed with people who are glancing around nervously. They must have arrived early, eager to get today over with.

I shuffle forwards as the line moves, continuing my survey of the area. There are cameramen perched up on every rooftop, sitting there like vultures, waiting to get the perfect shot of the Capitol's newest victims. It's repulsive.

Much like the town had been earlier this morning, the square is teeming with Peacekeepers. I can see people shoot them nervous glances every few seconds, most trying to stay out of their path and not draw attention to themselves. It's an impossible feat considering the number of them here. They're all standing at the ready, guns in hand, prepared to strike at a moment's notice. I almost want to laugh: they're just as afraid of us as we are of them.

"Next… Next… Next…" calls a monotonous voice from in front of me.

The girl ahead of me moves away, and I find myself at the front of the line. I walk quickly up to the table and extend my arm out to the person waiting to check me in. A female Peacekeeper grabs my hand and pricks my finger with some device that I never cared to learn the name of. The prick I feel isn't anything new, but I still flinch slightly at the feeling before she pulls my hand down and presses it onto a piece of paper. It's a familiar process, but I keep my eyes on her movements anyway. When she releases me from her hold, I place my arm at my side and watch as she scans the blood left from my finger. The machine in her hand beeps, and I am dismissed.

All around me people are moving towards the roped off sections, whipping their heads around to keep track of their friends and family. I spot a group of girls from my year in school, following them as they make their way towards the section designated for sixteen year-olds.

It's another stifling day, made worse by the cramped quarters we are forced to share. I can feel heat radiating off the people around me, and I began to sweat from both the temperature and my own anxiety. More girls file in behind me, and I find myself standing near the middle of the section, pressed up against Mabel Greenshaw. She gives me a quiet hello and a weak smile, and I give her the same.

Mabel and I had been best friends when we were younger. I have acquaintances from school and work, but to this day, she's the only real friend I've ever had. We met in school when we were six years old as a result of an assignment our teacher had given us. It was a project about the history of Panem in which we were supposed to explain what each District did and how they had come to be. Mabel had asked me if I wanted to work with her, and we had been practically inseparable for years after that. Neither of us had been very good at making friends, so it was just the two of us. That had ended when I started working for Mr. Fairbain though, but not due to any fault of hers. Between the Hob and his shop, I was stretched thin, and soon enough, she was faced with similar problems, having to work to help her family out. She only has two younger brothers, but considering that everyone in the Seam struggles to support their family, it was more than enough to have to deal with. Standing next to her today, with my stomach tightening painfully, I can't help but wish life hadn't gotten in the way of us being friends. More than anything though, I find myself praying that her name isn't picked.

I turn away from her to look at the rest of the crowd. My height makes it difficult to see anything other than the other people's heads so I have to strain my neck as I scan over the area, observing the different sections. The fear in the square seems to increase with every passing minute, becoming more prominent on the faces of the citizens of District Twelve as it steadily approaches two o'clock. I feel nauseous, but I try to remain calm. I can see a twelve-year old in the back section who's already crying while her friend tries to console her. I shake my head. The Reaping hasn't even started yet. If her name gets called, she's done for.

I'm jostled slightly as more people fill into the area, and I turn my attention to the stage set up in front of the Hall of Justice. In the past, there were only ever three seats: one for Mayor Undersee, one for District Twelve's escort, Effie Trinket, and one for Haymitch, District Twelve's only living victor. But two seats have been added this year for District Twelve's newest victors: Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

They're all on stage already, sitting in their chairs and looking serious. Mayor Undersee looks the same as he does every year: his head is glistening with sweat as he shifts uncomfortably in his too small suit. I can see him glance every once in a while at his daughter Madge, who's located in the section just ahead of me as she's a year older. He must be worried for her.

Effie Trinket is seated to the left of him, and I have to blink rapidly as I try to adjust my eyes to her outfit. She's practically luminescent. Her dress is a monstrous green thing that seems to puff out everywhere: her shoulders, her skirt, her neck. Everything is puffy. Her hair is lighter shade of green, almost bordering on yellow, and it too has a strange puff emerging from it. I think it's supposed to be a flower, but I can't be sure. She's grinning out over the crowd, and I can see that her teeth are almost as bright as her dress. For a moment I'm glad to be horrified over something other than the Reaping. Still, I think its toned down compared to some other things she's worn.

I pry my gaze away from the fluorescent woman, my eyes and my brain thanking me, and I look to the three people to her left: District Twelve's victors.

Haymitch Abernathy sits next to Effie, but he isn't paying any attention to her, or the crowd for that matter. He's slouched in his chair, head lolled to the side and feet sticking out in front of him. I think he might be asleep, but it's hard to tell from here. He's wearing the same outfit he wears to every Reaping, a frayed blue suit that I doubt has been washed in years. I wrinkle my nose in disgust. It probably smells like alcohol and vomit. But I haven't seen him take a drink since he walked on stage, and he has yet to start stumbling around, so I have to concede this is an improvement from last year.

Next to him are Katniss and Peeta, both of which are scanning the crowd. They look tense to me: their faces serious and their hands gripping the arms of the chairs tightly. They're probably looking for their families. Peeta's eyes search through the male section. He seems to find what he looking, because he faces forwards again, but he doesn't seem to be starring at anything in particular. I assume he's worried about his brother, but he's trying his best to remain indifferent for the cameras.

Katniss' expression displays indifference, but with the way her eyes keep flickering over the crowd, I can that it's not how she really feels. A part of my brain notes that she doesn't have much to worry about because Snow would never risk rigging the bowl to pull Prim's name again. It would be way to obvious considering she was reaped last year. She has no reason to need to know where her sister stands in the crowd. Another part of my brain knows that I can't blame her for worrying. I'd probably do the same thing in her situation.

My inspection of the people on stage is cut short when the clock rings out, signifying that it is now two. It is time for the Reaping to begin.

Mayor Undersee steps up to the podium and starts to speak. He recalls the history of our nation, how Panem was formed, as well as the story of the Dark Days. It's the same tale we hear every year, told to all the districts on Reaping day because it tells us all why we are here. To end the rebellion, the Treaty of Treason was signed and the Hunger Games were written into law to ensure everlasting peace among the nation.

 _To keep the districts in their place, more like._

I pay little attention to it. I practically know it by heart considering how many times I've heard it. Instead I chose to focus on the other people on stage, all of which are sitting up right with the gazes trained on the Mayor. Well, everyone except Haymitch who is staring at the ground.

 _At least he's awake._

The Mayor quickly reads another note that explains the rule changes for this year's Quarter Quell before he moves on to reading the list of past victors from District Twelve. The list is short since we've only ever had one victor aside from the three that are already seated on stage, and before I know it, he is introducing Effie Trinket to begin the selection.

If I were any less nervous, I'd probably laugh at how absurd Effie looks in her bright green dress as she bounces her way to the podium, but I can't seem to make myself do anything other than wring my hands together and bite into lip.

Effie stops in front of the microphone and shoots District Twelve what she probably thinks to be her happiest and most charming smile before calling out, "Welcome all as we come together to celebrate the 75th anniversary and third Quarter Quell. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor," in that ridiculous Capitol accent.

She talks excitedly about how thrilled she is to return here. I think she actually means it this time too since she now has victors of her own and no longer needs to be promoted to a more capable district. It's obvious as she prattles on about how excited we all must be for the start this year's Games that she is oblivious to the discomfort we all feel, and subsequently the glares I'm sure some are sending her, telling her to hurry up and get this over with.

I shake my head and move my gaze over to the glass bowl filled with tiny slips of paper, fifteen of which have my name written on them. I can't seem to put my focus on anything other than the large bowl that holds my fate, so I miss the rest of what Effie is saying, until she says the same phrase she does every year, "Ladies first!"

My heart hammers in my chest as she makes her way over to the bowl, and my breath catches in my throat. Everyone around me seems to freeze as she reaches her hand down into the pile of paper, twirling it around before she seems to find the one she wants. She pulls her hand back, and trots back to the microphone. She opens the paper and faces the crowd, reading the name written across it. For a minute, all I can hear is the sound of the blood rushing in my ears.

"Briar Kinross!"

My eyes are locked on Effie as my brain rushes to catch up to what she just said.

 _It's me._

 _She called my name._

For a second I feel nothing. Then my stomach rises in my throat. Someone squeezes my hand in a comforting manner. I turn to see Mabel staring at me with sad, teary eyes. I can feel people turn their gaze on me. I'm thankful that my mind somehow recalls that this will be televised to the entire nation. Everyone will see me. I force myself to take a deep breath before schooling my expression into something that I hope resembles determination. Or boredom. Or anger. Pretty much anything other than the fear that's causing my body to shake. I can't afford to look weak. I breathe deeply again as I pull my hand away and move out of the group.

There are four Peacekeepers waiting for me as I step out of my section and into the center aisle. They're there to stop me from trying to make a run for it. It doesn't matter though. My brain seems to be on autopilot as my feet carry me towards the stage.

The guards leave me as soon as we reach the steps, but I barely notice them as I look at what feels like the most daunting task I've ever faced. My heart stills feels like it is going to beat right out of my chest. I silently pray that I don't trip as I make my way on stage.

When I near the final step, I notice that Effie has made her way over to the top of the stairs to help me. When her hand makes contact with mine I come back to myself, the shock somewhat dissipating, only to be replaced by a restlessness in my limbs and a burning in my veins. My eyes snap up to look at the people on stage as Effie pulls me beside her.

Katniss is staring at me with unreadable eyes, but her lips are pressed into a thin line. She gives me a slight nod that feels simultaneously like one of apology and one of recognition, but I can't really tell. We aren't friends, but I know she knows who I am: another Seam girl who will have to fight for her life, just like she did.

My gaze slides to Peeta, who is looking at me with a pained expression on his face and sympathy in his eyes. I try to smile at him, but my lips barely move.

Haymitch is looking in my direction, but he seems to be starring right through me. I wonder if he's having flashbacks to seven years ago.

The Mayor looks sympathetic like Peeta, and I wonder if he too remembers that far back. Remembers a younger version of me standing with my father as people give us their greatest condolences. As they apologize for what these Games took away from us. I wonder if he thinks it unfair that they keep taking. I choke back what I'm sure would be a hysterical laugh. I guess the odds have never been in my favor.

I suddenly hear something over the rushing of blood in my ears. Oh. Effie is talking again.

She asks for volunteers, but I know there won't be any. She hums lightly under her breath, seeming upsets that there isn't entertainment like last year before continuing, "Well, isn't this wonderful! Everyone, let's have a round of applause for our first tribute!"

I look out at the crowd as they applaud lightly. Everyone still looks nervous. They have no reason to relax. There are still three more names to be called.

Effie seems disappointed by the reaction, but continues on, "Well, then, lets move along to our next tribute."

I try to stand still and keep my expression neutral as she makes her way back over to the bowl. She repeats the same process as she did before, pulling out another name and making her way back to the podium.

"Thalia Galloway!" she calls out.

I see movement coming from near the backend, either from the section of thirteen or fourteen year-olds, and for a moment I find myself glad that it isn't the little girl I saw crying earlier. I watch as the group of people part, and a girl emerges from the group of fourteens. I note that we look vaguely similar from a distance. She's another girl from the Seam. I hope that is the last of our similarities. She is a whimpering, quivering mess as she makes her way on stage. The girl doesn't stand a chance. She won't get any sponsors with the way she's acting.

"That's it dear," Effie says as she helps Thalia on stage. "Yes, yes, stand right there," she tells her before walking up to the podium again, asking for volunteers. There's another round of applause when no one steps forward.

It's a little louder than the one I received, but I find no offense in it. I can see the relief in the faces of girls and their parents as they watch us on stage, thankful that the situations aren't reversed. They are spared another year. It makes me feel a little bitter, but I can't really blame them.

Effie's voice draws my attention as she leans towards the microphone again. "And now, for the selection of our male tributes." I fight the urge to glare at her. Her voice hasn't lost an ounce of excitement.

Again, she makes her way over to the bowl and pulls out a slip of paper before she calls out, "Collis Allardyce!"

Another kid from the Seam. I don't know him well, or at all really, but I used to see him in the Hob from time to time. He's fifteen, and his mom is sick. I'm pretty sure I can hear her cry out from somewhere along the perimeter.

He steps out of the crowd and begins to make his way up to the stage. He's already doing better than Thalia by holding his head up and not crying, but he looks ready to vomit at any moment.

I don't move my head to look at him as he comes up on stage and stands on the other side of Effie. I don't need to see the face of another kid that I'm going to have to fight against for my life.

I don't even realize that Effie has moved before she's at the podium again, calling out the final name.

"Karn Ballatyne!" is the name that flies out of her mouth, and I have to consciously keep myself from cringing. I briefly hope that I heard the name wrong, but when a boy steps out from the section of eighteen year-olds, I know that I heard correctly.

I allow myself a quick glance at Karn as he makes his way towards the stage, but I immediately regret it. He's tall with a broad frame, and I can already tell he's strong. But that's not what worries me about him. I find myself drawn to his face, or more specifically the smirk that's resting there as he practically saunters up the stairs. I can see him throw his arm, a bit too roughly, around Collis out of the corner of my eye. He smirks at the crowd with Career-like confidence as they applaud him. I tell myself that most of it is just bravado, but I've never been good at denial. I can already tell he's going to be a threat.

The Mayor begins the required reading of the Treaty of the Treason, but I don't pay much attention. Instead I remain facing forwards, starring off into the distance at nothing in particular. My eyes flicker to the left a little, and I feel as much as see the camera trained on my face, trying to capture my reaction to the other tributes, trying to get something interesting to show the people of Panem. I briefly make eye contact with the camera, trying my best to seem non-pulsed before looking away.

When the Mayor finishes reading, he motions for us to shakes hands. Both Thalia and Collis's hands are shaking, but at least he looks me in the eye. Karn on the other hand, has a firm grip, one that's almost too tight to be friendly, and the smirk has yet to leave his face. I try to keep my gaze level with his, but I'm forced to look away when the anthem begins to play, and we are ushered into the Hall of Justice.

The room they put me in is possibly the nicest that I have ever seen. It's similar to Peeta's house, but a little fancier. It's not a large room, but all of the furniture is clean and sturdy. I'm not familiar with most of the materials, but that's how I know it's expensive. I sit down on the chair that looks the most plush, and I am immediately happy with my decision. May as well be comfortable while I wait for them to come and get me.

I play with the leather bracelet on my wrist as I sit there. My hand is still bandaged around my burn, and it reminds me of my thoughts from dinner the night before, when I had been thinking about tesserae. I can't help but wonder which one, which time I was so desperately in need of food, is the one that put me in here, ready to be shipped off to the Capitol to fight for my life. Not that it matters now. There's nothing I can do to change it.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when the door opens. I hadn't expected anyone to come aside from Mr. Fairbain, so I'm shocked to see Mabel standing at the entrance of the small room. Seeing her fidget uncomfortably in the doorway, it suddenly hits me that this is real, that I've just been reaped for the Hunger Games. My eyes ache, the tears already forming, but I will myself to contain my emotions. Crying won't get me anywhere.

Mabel takes a tentative step towards me. We stand still for a moment before she quickly strides across the room and throws her arms around me.

"I'm so sorry, Briar," she sobs against my shoulder.

I don't say anything. I just hold her back tightly.

I realize that I shouldn't have been surprised to see her. We may not have been a constant presence in each other's life these past few years, but Mabel knows me better than anyone. She was my first friend, the person who was there for me during the hardest part of my life when my father couldn't even bring himself to care, always giving me a shoulder to lean on. She understands me better than anyone. She knows what this means to me—what it means to me to have her here. That she cares about what happens to me.

My throat aches and my eyes burn with unshed tears as I force out a shuddering breath. We step back from each other. She takes my hand and leads me over to the couch.

"I'm so sorry," she repeats. "This isn't fair. This shouldn't have happened to you."

The tears are still streaming down her face, and the sight makes me ache to comfort her even as she tries to do the same for me.

"It had to happen to someone," I whisper. "It might as well have been me."

She looks at me angrily for a minute. It's an expression I'm not at all used to seeing on her face. "Don't say things like that! Don't make it sound like this is a death sentence."

I smile sadly at her. Mabel had always been the optimistic one in our friendship.

"It sort of is, May. What chance do I really have?"

It sounds terrible when I say it out loud, especially because I can tell that it's making her upset, but it's true. I'll be going into the arena with people who've been preparing their whole life for this. Children who've been turned into ruthless killing machines.

She sniffles lightly. "Maybe…maybe you don't have as good of a chance as the kids from One or Two, but you're smart, Briar. You're one of the smartest people I know. And you're fast."

I appreciate that fact that she's honest with me, that she doesn't lie and tell me that I've got just as good of a shot as all the others, because we both know that its not the case. But I don't understand how she can have so much faith in me even with that knowledge.

I shake my head at her. "I don't know if that'll make much of a difference in the arena."

"It will! No one will be able to catch you. And the smart competitors always make it far. You'll be able to pick things up quickly, and you'll get sponsors."

She almost sounds hysterical now. It makes my chest tighten in a bittersweet mix, knowing that she still cares this much about me coming home, but that I might not be able to do it. I'm overcome with regret over not staying close to her all these years. I wish I could find something comforting to say like I won't die, but I don't want to lie to her.

"Briar, you have to try. You have to try and win." She looks down at our joined hands, spotting the bracelet on my wrist. "You know she'd want you to. Amelia and your mother, they'd both expect you to."

I swallow thickly as she looks back up at me with watery eyes. I know that if I try to speak, I won't be able to stop myself from crying, so I just nod my head slowly. I hope that my eyes convey my sincerity. Mabel is right. I can't give up. I can't let them down.

A Peacekeeper opens the door and tells Mabel her time is up. She gives me another tight hug, and tells me to have faith, that I can do this. I try to believe her.

The door closes behind her, and I am once again left in silence. Not long after though, I hear the door open again, and Mr. Fairbain steps into the room. I stand up from the couch and rush towards him. He pulls me into his arms, and I lean heavily against him, trying once again to control my tears. I don't know how long we stay like that, but I'm thankful for the comfort.

Eventually, he steps back from me. We only have three minutes, and I don't want to waste it all hugging. I can see the emotion written across his face. He is upset for me, angry over the cards I have been dealt, but he keeps it under control. He doesn't cry, so neither do I.

His hands remain on my shoulders as he holds me at arms length, but neither of us makes a move to speak. We just stand like that in silence for a few moments, him offering me his silent support.

Finally he speaks. "Chin up, kid," he says. "You've got a lot of work ahead of you." I don't think he expects me to respond because he continues on, "It's been a pleasure having you around. I have no regrets expect for the fact that I don't know how I'll replace you when you come back as a victor and have no need to work with an old butcher like myself."

A watery laughs brushes past my lips, and I smile at him. "I'm sure you'll be fine without me," I say. I don't mean for it to sound like I don't think I'm coming back, so I keep talking, preventing him from correcting me.

"I can't thank you enough, Mr. Fairbain." I can feel my throat closing up, but I barrel on anyway. "I don't know what I would have done if it weren't for you. I don't know how I'll ever pay you back."

"You can worry about that when you return," he tells me in a steady voice.

I don't know how he can have so much faith in me. But he believes in me like Mabel does, and that has to count for something.

"You can do this, Briar. Don't let them take anything else away from you."

His words are different from Mabel's but they convey the same message. It's those words that fully and truly bring me back to myself. He's right. They've taken so much from me, from everyone here in Twelve. They just take, and take, and take, and nobody is able to do anything about it. Well, I'm not going to make it easy for them.

"I won't go down without a fight, Mr. Fairbain," I say, trying to implore just how much I mean this. "I won't let them win."

He pulls me into another hug as a Peacekeeper comes in telling him that his time is up. He smiles at me as he leaves the room and the door closes behind him.

I know that my father isn't coming, that no one else is, so I sit back down and lose myself in my thoughts. I meant what I said to Mabel and Mr. Fairbain. I may not have much to come back to, but that's not going to stop me from trying. I'm not going to give up. If I go down, I'm going to go down fighting.

I won't let them win. I can't.

* * *

 **Author's Note: AHHHHHHHH, thank you guys so much for the follows, favs, and reviews. This is my first venture into writing, so I really appreciate the support. All of the positive feedback is making me really excited to post more for you guys.**

 **White Eevee: Seriously embarrassed by those typos in the Prologue. Guess I need to proofread a little more closely XD. Glad you like the final line. It was one of the first ideas I had when conceiving this story.**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemus: So glad you like Briar :)**

 **Seriously guys, I can't stress enough how much I appreciate the support. Please keep reading and reviewing. All criticism is welcome from grammar to character to plot, so don't hesitate. Until next time!**


	4. Chapter 3: Pomp and Circumstance

**Chapter 3: Pomp and Circumstance**

The ride to the train station is short and for the most part, passes in silence. It's only to be broken by the occasional comment from Effie. I don't even try to listen to what she is saying, but she seems too entranced by her own voice to notice, so I don't feel bad. Instead, I chose to stare out the window and watch as everything rushes by. It's the first time I've ever been in a car, and somewhere in the back of my mind I realize that this might be the only time I'll ever be in one. Despite its novelty, I can't bring myself to appreciate it.

Collis and Thalia seem to feel the same way I do because they've both spent the entire car ride trying to get their tears under control. Even though I don't cry now, I can't fault them. It's different when you have things to lose.

I glance over at Karn. It only takes one glimpse to make me feel uneasy. He looks exactly the same as he did on stage like he isn't even a little bit scared. Like it doesn't matter that all of us could be dead in a few weeks. You'd think he did this sort of thing all the time. Even though I know I'm not in any danger now, I find myself leaning closer to the window, trying to put more space between me and the smirking boy.

I'm relieved when we arrive at the station, but it is a short-lived respite. When I step out of the car, I'm overwhelmed by a strange chirping sound. It takes me a second to realize that the sound is coming from cameras. The entire station is filled with them, their sounds ricocheting through the air as they click away. All of them are focused on us, and I try to hide a wince as I watch them take pictures of Collis and Thalia, no doubt perfectly capturing their tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes for all of Panem to see. They both look weak as they try to cover up their sniffles.

I don't bother looking over at Karn, because I have no doubt that he's smirking away at the cameras. I have even less doubt about how much the Capitol people will love it.

I'm once again thankful that I haven't cried because it makes putting up a mask and pretending that I am okay much easier. No matter how much I dislike these people I know I need their support if I want to have any chance of making it out of this thing alive. I turn to the cameras nearest to me and give them my most coy smile, hoping to give off an air of nonchalance about the whole thing. I hear the sound of more clicking and people calling my name before Effie comes over and leads me to a platform in front of the train.

We stand there for a few minutes as cameramen take more pictures of us, shouting out our names to get our attention.

 _As if I could focus on anything other than the cameras flashing in my face._

I can tell that Effie loves all of the attention as she smiles and waves at the people of the Capitol. Her personality is nearly as flamboyant as her outfit. I wonder how her puffed up dress will look on camera. My guess is a fluorescent green blob. I almost laugh at the image my mind conjures up, but I push it back down, keeping the coy smile on my face. But a moment later, I wonder why I even bothered to hold back; it's not like it matters, as long as I don't look broken.

Fortunately, the time for taking pictures comes to an end, Effie spouting off something about how we're needed in the Capitol, and we are all ushered inside the train. I'm barely through the entrance when the door closes, and the train begins to move. The movement of the train is almost undetectable under my feet as I stare at the compartment in front of me. I remember reading somewhere that the high-speed Capitol trains move at about 250 miles per hour, but that's not what currently has me in awe.

Even in comparison to the Justice Building and the Victor's Village, the interior of the train is by far the most extravagant thing I have ever laid eyes on. The color of the walls are a dull gray not something that would have been out of place in Twelve but it has a sort of flowery pattern that I've never seen before, and probably wouldn't be able to find outside of the Capitol or one of the wealthier districts.

The tables and chairs are made from a dark wood that shines from the light streaming in through the windows, though they don't shine as brightly as the panels of crystal located throughout the room. The couches are a rich blue and look even more comfortable than the ones from the room in the Justice Building. There are chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and carts filled with more food than I've ever seen in my entire life. It looks nearly enough to feed all the people in the Seam. It's as equally amazing as it is disgusting. I can't tell if it's meant to give us comfort on our last days or to mock us for what we'll never have again.

Effie seems to think it's the former.

"Isn't it just beautiful?" Effie squeals from somewhere in the train car. I find myself absentmindedly nodding. "Everything you see in here is all for you!" she says with a sweeping gesture as I finally turn my gaze to her.

The first genuine smile I've given all day makes its way onto my face. Now that we are out of the sun and Effie is no longer luminescent, I can determine that her dress is in fact a giant green puff. I concede that it looks slightly more flattering under this light, but my smile widens when I notice that despite the strange colors of both her dress and her hair, she actually fits in pretty well with the surroundings.

"It's a shame we won't be here longer," she says with a sigh. "We'll be arriving in the Capitol in less than a day." She perks up at her next thought, though. "Oh, just wait until you see the penthouse! It is simply marvelous. No expense has been spared with it being the Quarter Quell. Everything, and I mean _everything_ , is brand new!"

My smile fades. It actually managed to slip my mind for a moment, but Effie's comment reminds me of the truth. I find my feet carrying me over to the nearest window, and I watch as the train whizzes past the trees, taking me away from my home. In less than twenty-four hours, I'll be preparing for something that will either change my life forever, or end it. I play with the leather bracelet on my wrist and bite my lip. I wish I knew what she had felt about all of this.

"Briar, dear, are you listening?"

I turn around when Effie says my name and see the all the other occupants staring at me expectantly. I realize that I must have spaced out because Thalia, Collis, and Karn are now sitting down, and Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch have made their way into the main car. I move over to the group, sitting next to Thalia as Effie continues on.

"As I was saying, there are many things that will need to be done when we arrive at the Capitol tomorrow," Effie babbles excitedly. "Once we leave the train, we will be headed straight for the Remake Center, where you will meet with your prep team and designer."

She turns towards the boys first, telling Collis he will be working with Portia, like Peeta did, and that Karn will be one of the new stylists, a man named Gauis. Then she turns to Thalia and I.

"Thalia will be working with Althea. She's lovely," she tells Thalia, giving the small girl a pat on the arm. "And you, Briar, will be working with Cinna. He is just fantastic," she says, turning towards the female victor beside her. "Isn't he just fantastic, Katniss?" Effie asks. Katniss merely smiles and agrees with the beaming woman beside her.

Effie turns and faces us again. She seems disappointed by Katniss' lack of input on the matter, but continues on. "He is a fashion _star_ in the Capitol now," she gushes with a raise of her eyebrows, as if daring any of us to question what she is saying. She doesn't seem to realize that this doesn't matter to any of us. We don't care about Capitol fashion.

"It is just so wonderful to a have a designer as talented as Cinna in our midst. It's about time too. If I had to listen to Zella—she's the District Two mentor," she clarifies, "go on about how much better her tributes look than mine…"

She doesn't finish her sentence. I think she expects us to fill in the information ourselves, as if we know exactly how she would have felt if she had to deal with sub-par fashion for another year. A part of me doesn't want her to feel bad, so I nod my head, pretending I know just how hard that would have been for her.

"Well anyway," she continues, "After that, we will have the tribute parade. Now I'm sure all of you know just how important that is." When all four of us stare at her blankly, she lets out a scandalized huff as if we have just done the worst thing possible. _I guess the parade is pretty important._

"The parade," she says sharply, "is the first chance the sponsors have to get a good look at the tributes, to decide on who they want to sponsor. It is _paramount_ that you make a good impression." I look over at Peeta who nods at me in agreement.

 _Yup. The parade is definitely important._

She seems ready to continue on, but Haymitch cuts her off.

"Alright, alright, no need to overwork their little brains just yet," he says. I frown slightly at his comment, wondering if he's always this way or if it just has to do with how much he's had to drink. He smells like alcohol but doesn't sway as he talks. I'm mildly impressed with this version of Haymitch. This one doesn't seem like he's going to throw up and then pass out.

Effie looks affronted over the fact that Haymitch has cut her off, but Peeta steps in before she has the chance to start what I have no doubt would be a very amusing war of words.

"Effie, why don't you show them to their rooms?" he says amicably. "We can continue this conversation at dinner."

She takes a breath and stands up straight, plastering a smile on her face and trying to look happy. It doesn't really work though because with they way her eye keeps twitching it is clear that she is still very annoyed with District Twelve's oldest victor. She nods to Peeta before motioning for us to follow her out of the compartment.

My bedroom, like everything else on this train, is extremely nice. I stand in the doorway and stare at it, unsure of what to do. It's about the size of my house back in the Seam, and that's not even including the bathroom that I can see in the far corner. I know that I'm sweaty and most likely smell, so I decide to head there first, peeling off my clothes as I make my way over.

Of course, that leads to my second state of uncertainty. That bathroom is made of a gleaming white stone _marble, maybe?_ and it sparkles with just how clean it is. Inside is a large shower with more buttons than seems strictly necessary. I've never taken a shower before, and I have no idea how it works. We only bathe in Twelve, and it never involves fancy soaps or hot water.

My shower might not either if I can't figure out how to turn it on _._ I briefly wonder if they're trying to wear me down by making me feel stupid for not knowing how to work a shower.

I manage to get it running after a few minutes, and I relish in the feeling of the hot water on my skin. The water at home is usually cold, tepid if I'm being generous, so I find myself enjoying the change. Eventually though, I force myself out from under the hot spray, knowing that dinner will probably start soon. I've never felt so clean. I think Effie will be happy.

I pad back across the dressing room with a towel wrapped around my body, coming to a stop in front of the dresser. The drawers are all filled with fine clothes, but I don't really care about impressing anyone, so I reach down a pull out whatever's on top—a red shirt and black pants—and put them on. The leather bracelet remains on my wrist, and not for the first time, I feel calm as I stare down at it. I hope the feeling stays with me.

Effie comes by my room a few minutes later, telling me that it is time for dinner. She already has the other three kids from my district with her when she arrives.

The mentors are seated at the table when we enter, so we all take a seat and dinner arrives without pause. It is served in courses, and it's more than I know what to do with. I try to pace myself, but it all looks so good. I end up eating more than I can handle, unable to stop myself from trying the rich food in front of me.

My fellow tributes are also gorging themselves on food, so there isn't much conversation through the first few courses. Karn has the best manners out of all of us, which isn't surprising considering he is from the Merchant's Village. He's always had food on the table so he doesn't quite understand what a change this is for us people from the Seam. Thalia and I are both somewhat familiar with a fork and knife, so I think we look okay. Collis is a different story. He eats everything with his hands, with the exception of the soup. No one at the table seems to mind except for Effie who I can see is looking at him in horror out of the corner of my eye. But to her credit, she doesn't say anything. For a while at least. By the time we get to the third course, she's making a concerted effort to look at the other side of the table, and when we get to dessert, she finally snaps.

"Collis, manners! Finger foods are appetizers," she says sharply. "This is dessert. We use forks." Effie closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Collis has the presence of mind to look abashed, but I just shrug at him and go back to my dessert. It's a rich chocolate cake with some frosting Peeta calls butter cream. No one else has anything to say on the matter so we lapse back into silence as we enjoy our food.

Karn is the first one to break our eating-induced quietude. "So, how do we get started?" he says, putting down his spoon as if to indicate that he means business.

"You're an eager one, aren't you?" Haymitch responds gruffly with a raise of his eyebrows. He gives Karn an appraising look before he returns to his food, only raising his head again when he realizes we're all waiting for an answer. "What are you looking at me for? They're mentors," he says, pointing at Katniss and Peeta, "They can answer."

We all look towards the new mentors, and Peeta clears his throat. "Well, um, as Effie was saying earlier, you're all going to need sponsors." He fixes us with an imploring look. "They're your life-line in the arena. Winning without them is nearly impossible."

Peeta quickly looks over at his co-victor, who suddenly seems to find the tablecloth fascinating. Katniss had more sponsors in the arena than Peeta, and in the end it was a gift from one of them that got him into the finale. He would have died from infection if it weren't for the medicine they sent. And while there is no doubt about the fact that Katniss is great with a bow, she wouldn't have made it through the Games without sponsors either. Hell, even Careers rely on sponsors in the Games, considering they lack any skill that doesn't involve killing other tributes. It's an important lesson.

Whatever the moment was between them seems to pass and Peeta continues. "The first big event to show yourself to the sponsors is at the tribute parade "

"You won't have to worry about a thing when it comes to that," Effie chimes in. "All of the stylists will make sure you look your very best. Sponsors will just _adore_ you." The corners of my mouth lift a little at her words. Effie cares about us, in her own weird way.

Peeta nods. "However, this year is going to be a little different with the rule changes for the Quell," he says, turning his head to look at Haymitch. Katniss gives the older mentor a pointed look.

Haymitch was in the second Quarter Quell, and like this one, forty-eight tributes were sent into the arena. He knows better than anyone what this type of Games will be like: how difficult it will be to win. He won his own by manipulating the force field, but it wasn't an easy victory, and it came with a steep price. His constant state of inebriation pretty much speaks for itself.

Haymitch puts his utensils down and fixes us with a straight-faced stare. "Alright, if you're all serious about trying to win this thing, you have to play your cards right, but it won't be easy." I'm momentarily surprised by how clear headed he suddenly seems, but I don't have time to question it before he's talking again.

"There are forty-eight of you this year, which means everything you usually get is cut in half. That means less screen time and less attention. So you have to make them fall in love with you with what little time you _do_ have."

"How do we do that?" comes Thalia's meek voice from next to me. I almost forgot she was here. Maybe her quietness will help her in the arena.

"You give them some reason to find you interesting. The Capitol loves beautiful things, strong things, mysterious things," he rattles off. "You just have to find the right angle."

"You had a lot of sponsors in the arena, Katniss. Do you have anything to add?" Peeta asks her in a polite, and somewhat cold voice. Well, cold for Peeta, I mean. I shift my gaze between the two of them. It's the second time over the course of dinner that they've interacted in such a stiff manner. We all know they're engaged _kind of hard to miss with the national broadcast of the proposal and pretty much every other detail of their lives_ but from the way they are acting now, I wouldn't even think them friends. Maybe they're fighting. Or maybe it's just the stress of the Games.

An uncomfortable look immediately covers her face, and she looks away from Peeta. "Just be yourself," she says, but it sounds like a question. Probably advice someone else gave her.

Haymitch leans back in his chair, rolling his eyes at her answer. "Unless you're like Katniss. In that case, create a more..." he waves his hand in the air, as if to emphasize his point, " _pleasant_ personality," he finishes with a mocking smile. Katniss just glares at him.

"Oh, and do remember to smile," Effie adds, stretching out the last word. "No one wants to see an unhappy tribute," she singsongs. I stifle a snort. I'm pretty sure the majority of us are unhappy tributes.

"Before we begin with any of that though, we need to see what you're up against," Haymitch says. "There's no point in thinking up an angle if you don't even know who your competition is."

Haymitch stands up abruptly and jerks his head towards the door leading out of the compartment. "Come on, the recap should be starting soon," he says as he begins walking out of the room. We all stand quickly, rushing to follow him.

I hear Effie's shrill voice ring out ahead of me. "Manners, Haymitch! The ladies should _always_ go first." I snicker. She sounds like she's chastising a child.

I'm in the back of the group as we make our way into the compartment for the recap, and the only chair left open is the one closest to the door. I take my seat and turn my eyes towards the screen. I can feel the knots forming in my stomach. They're taking up permanent residence there.

Music begins to blare from the speakers, and Caesar Flickerman's face appears on screen. He has a new hair color this year, changing out the powder blue for a bright shade of orange that sort of reminds me of a pumpkin. His hair practically matches his skin. His teeth are the same as they are every year though. Large and very, very white. They're easy to see through his beaming smile.

I don't really know what to make of Caesar Flickerman. He plays an important role in the Games every year, and never seems bothered by any of it. But yet he's notoriously positive no matter the circumstance, and always seems eager to help the tributes look their best for the cameras. So I guess as far as Capitol citizens go, he could be a lot worse. I'm still dreading the interview though.

We're all silent as he begins to speak. "Hello, citizens of Panem and Happy Hunger Games!" he roars. "I hope you're all having a fine evening. How could you not with all the excitement in the air for this year's…" he pauses dramatically, "Quarter Quell!"

"I'm excited. Are you excited?" he flashes a smile and turns to the man beside him: his co-host Claudius Templesmith. I shake my head. He looks almost as ridiculous as Caesar with his light blue, brain-shaped hair.

"Oh, yes I am, Caesar. This year will surely be interesting: one to remember for years to come. It is the 75th anniversary after all."

I decide that I like him least of all the Capitol people I've seen so far, with the exception of Snow of course. His voice is booming like Caesar's, but it doesn't sound nearly as friendly. Maybe that's because I'm used to hearing it alongside the announcement of kids' deaths.

"Indeed, Claudius. Indeed," He sends another white grin to the camera. "Before we begin the highly anticipated recap of today's reapings, I have a special message to you, the citizens of Panem, from the President himself regarding the rules for this year's Quarter Quell. As you all know from the reading of the card broadcasted earlier this year, there are forty-eight tributes, as there was in the second Quarter Quell."

I take a quick glance at Haymitch, who's now holding a drink in his hand, and try to gage a reaction from him at the mention of his Games. He shows no outward signs of distress, but I suspect that's what the drink is for.

"However," Caesar's voice booms out, "a new twist was added, as is the tradition for every Quarter Quell. This year, the tributes will work in partnerships formed between different districts in the name of unity and goodwill," he pauses again and turns to Claudius. "I just love that. Don't you?" He doesn't wait for an answer.

"Hold on to your seats though, folks, because that's not the only twist. This year, the games will be a two-step process. First, all forty-eight tributes will enter the arena to battle it out on their own. As stated at the Announcement of the Quell, when twenty-four tributes remain, they will be brought back to the Capitol and divided into randomly selected teams, before being placed in…wait for it… A SECOND ARENA!" he roars. "Can you believe it, ladies and gentleman? This year you will be getting not one, but two new arenas! Isn't that exciting?" He tacks an outrageous laugh on the end.

"It certainly seems that the Capitol is going above and beyond for the Quarter Quell, doesn't it, Caesar?"

"It certainly does, Claudius. It certainly does. Well, now that we've finished with that, let's get started on the recap, shall we?"

I stare at the television intently as the Reapings begin to play out on screen. District One is first as always, and I am not at all surprised at how it turns out. All four of them are volunteers: sauntering up to the stage with sick, arrogant smiles stretched across their faces. Mace, Tilver, Ivory, and Topaz. Their names sound absurd, but I can't really find it funny when I know there's about hundred different ways they could kill me. Especially when I know that they'd probably enjoy it too. Caesar notes that they look like serious competition. I have to agree. District Two is next. They select the girls first like we do in Twelve, and just like in One, two girls volunteer. Their names are Valora and Hera. They are both beautiful, and deadly, and I know that the sponsors will love them. When it's time for the male tributes, the escort barely begins to unfold the slip before a boy comes bounding out of the crowd, yelling that he volunteers. Everyone in the compartment is silent as he struts up to the stage like he knows he's going to win this. Chances are he's right. It isn't until he says his name and I get a good look at him, that my heart stops. He gives a smirk to the camera, stating that his name is Cato Hadley. I can feel my palms beginning to sweat as he utters the words. _It can't be. The odds can't be that bad. It's not possible._ I know better than to think the odds are on my side though. Caesar justifies my doubts with his commentary.

"Well, well, well. This _is_ interesting," Caesar says. "If I'm not mistaken, I do believe that that is the brother of Demetrius Hadley, winner of the 69th Hunger Games. We'll have to keep an eye on him. He looks ready for a fight," he comments with a smile.

And he does. He stands strong on stage, staring out over the crowd and straight at the cameras. His smirk is cocky, a type of arrogance that can only come from having trained your whole life for this. But it's the eyes that get me. His blue eyes match those of his brother in every way: just as cold, as pitiless, and as terrifying. I swallow stiffly. I can feel someone's eyes on the back of my head, but I don't turn around. I already know they belong to Haymitch.

I'm so distracted by the monstrous boy that I miss the selection of District Two's final tribute as well the reaping of the girls from the next district. The boys from Three are nothing out of the ordinary, but they don't look weak either. District Four has two volunteers, a well-built boy and a sinister looking girl, but the other two are reaped. After that, there are only a few others who stick out or that I make a mental note to keep track of. A crazed looking girl from Five. A small, mousy looking girl from Six. Two strong looking boys from Seven who are most likely skilled with an ax. Two twelve year-olds that are reaped in Eight that no one volunteers for. And then comes District Twelve.

The three mentors in the compartment have been making comments every now and then over the course of the recap, but they say nothing as we all watch ourselves on screen. I'm the first one who appears since I was the first to be reaped. I can hear my heart beating rapidly as I wait, but when I see myself step out of the crowd, I am immediately relieved and my heart slows a little. I don't have the confidence of the volunteers from One, the beautiful girls from Two, or the sinister girl from Four, but I don't look weak either. I'm surprised to see that my gaze is steady as I stand on stage, even though I'm pretty sure I don't succeed in completely shielding the terror in my eyes. You can't even tell I was trembling. Overall, I'm happy with how I must look to the people of Panem, and more importantly, to the sponsors and my other competitors. I won't be near the top of anyone's win list, but I look just strong enough to not be completely written off either. I smile when all three mentors nod their heads in approval.

Thalia, unfortunately, is not as lucky. Watching her on screen, I can see that she looks worse than I originally thought as she shakily makes her way on stage. She's not the first person to cry at a reaping though, so it's possible for her to turn it around. _Possible, but not likely._

Collis looks decent as he makes his way towards the stage. He's no better or worse than the tributes from the other outlying districts, and I see Peeta give him a small smile conveying this.

When Karn's name is called, I'm once again met with a feeling of apprehension. Like the Careers, his face and gate display confidence. He practically preens when Caesar notes that he is one to watch, and I begrudgingly have to agree.

The anthem begins to play, and the screen switches back to Caesar and Claudius, both of which are smiling broadly at the camera.

"It seems like we have an interesting group this year. I see a lot of strong tributes in this bunch," Claudius says.

"I have to agree, Claudius. This is a fascinating group of tributes. Double the skill." Claudius gives a half-hearted chuckle in response. Caesar leans towards his co-host with a conspiratorial expression and continues, "But you know what's really caught my eye? District Two's Cato Hadley and District Twelve's Briar Kinross." I freeze in my seat as both our pictures are put up on the screen behind Caesar, but I can't take my eyes off the television.

"I'm sure you all remember the 69th Hunger Games. I know I certainly do. One of my all time favorite arenas." He grins, and there's a flashing image of the arena: a desert wasteland. I already know where this is going. I can feel the food from dinner churn in my stomach, and I feel increasingly sick with every second.

"Not only was it a great arena, but it also brought us one of _my_ favorite victors, District Two's Demetrius Hadley." The face of the aforementioned winner is put up on screen next to Cato's. Aside from their eyes and their hulking forms, they don't look too similar. Cato is blond and fairer skinned while his brother has brown hair and is more tanned. I am thankful for this. It will be easier to separate the two if they look different.

"Now, if I'm not mistaken, District Twelve's female tribute from that year was also a Kinross, am I right? One, _Amelia_ Kinross. I did some digging, and it seems that this Amelia was in fact the older sister of Briar Kinross. Can you believe it?"

Her picture appears next to mine, and I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying. It's strange to look at us like that, side by side. Her picture is from the start of her Games, as she stands on the podium with a determined look in her eye, while mine is from the reaping. But as I look between the two of us, it's almost hard to tell who is who. I'm only a year older than she was when she went into the Games, and we look nearly identical.

"That's quite a shock. I mean, what are the chances?" Claudius chimes in.

"For those who may not remember, despite being from a lower district, Amelia managed not only to make it to the final five, but she was a part of an alliance with District Two for a bit before she was killed in a shocking act of betrayal." The silence in the compartment feels thick and I know everyone in the room is staring at me now. I don't know whether it's in sympathy or shock. I ignore them and keep my focus on Caesar, trying to keep my emotions under control even though my heart has dropped into my stomach.

"Really a nail biter then, and I can't help but feel that it must be fate that both the siblings of these tributes are to fight against each other this year. One can only wonder how Ms. Kinross must be feeling. But, who knows? After the stunning victory of last year's lethal lovers, maybe lady luck has turned her favor to District Twelve?"

"You're really getting into this Caesar."

"I can't help it! It's exciting, isn't it? _I'm_ excited." His staccato laughter sounds thick and muted in my ears. I'm afraid to move, because I feel like if I do, I might throw up on the plush carpet. So I just sit there, pretending to listen to the rest of what Caesar is saying when really the only thing I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat. My body feels impossibly heavy as I slowly pull myself up from the chair. My voice shakes slightly as I tell my team that I'm going to bed. Then I bolt from the room.

As soon as I get back to my chambers I lose it, running to the toilet and throwing up my dinner. When I'm positive that there is nothing left in my stomach, I make my way towards the bed and collapse onto it.

I'm almost surprised at my reaction to all of this. I haven't allowed myself to get emotional over Amelia's death in years. But I can't stand what they're doing, making a spectacle of it. We might not be in the arena yet, but the Games have already started. They're already trying to pit me against one of the most favored tributes, a boy who could probably snap my neck with his bare hands, by using my sister against me. I don't know whether to scream or to cry when I realize it's working, because all I can see are flashes of my sister's Games. _Being brought into the alliance by the girl from Two. Saving Demetrius' life. The girl from Two revealing just how sadistic she really was. Telling his district partner to 'make it quick, give her a little mercy.' Slitting her throat while she slept._ A few tears roll down my cheeks as I remember how it felt to watch as they plotted her death while I sat at helpless, knowing my sister was about to die and not being able to do a single thing about it. I suddenly feel like my body is made of stone, and I can't breathe, suffocating as I choke on my sobs. I hug the leather bracelet to my chest Amelia's bracelet and I remember the words Mr. Fairbain said to me. _Don't let them take anything else away from you._

I repeat the words until I calm down, and my breathing returns to normal. I don't bother getting up from the bed though. I lay there, lost in my own head until I hear a knock at the door, and Peeta voice sounds from the other side.

"Briar? Are you in there?" I can hear the concern in his voice, and I'm momentarily surprised, but then I remember who he is. Sweet, friendly Peeta who cares about everyone.

I sit up and wipe the tears off my face. "Yeah, I'm here. You can come in, Peeta." I hate the way my voice breaks. He enters the room looking a little sheepish, like he feels like he's intruding, and stops a few feet away from the bed.

He hesitates before speaking. "Are you okay? I mean, with what happened during the recap?" I swallow and look down at my hands. "…Sorry, what kind of question is that? I "

"I don't really know what to feel," I say with a watery laugh, because it's true. I can't even begin to sort through how I feel because it's so overwhelming. "I guess… I guess I knew that they would bring her up eventually, either Caesar or maybe even Haymitch, but this is just… it's just crazy." I scrub both of my hands over my face and let out a hysterical laugh. I can feel the anger bubbling up inside me as I stand up and begin to pace around the room.

"I mean, after everything that's happened, I knew the odds weren't exactly in my favor." I spit out the phrase out like it's physically painful for me to say. It sort of is. "But, _him_ of all people? What are the chances of that?" I ask with a shake of my head.

As soon as the question leaves my mouth the anger does too, evaporating just as quickly as it came, and I'm suddenly left feeling deflated. I collapse back onto the bed, hugging my knees to my chest as I lean against the headboard. The tears start building again, and I cover my mouth to muffle my sobs. I've never been much of a crier, but right now it feels like the only thing I can do, so I give up on trying to speak, and just cry. It's not like it matters anyway. There's no one to see my weakness but Peeta. After a little while, he sits on the edge of the bed and wraps an arm around my shoulder in a silent show of support.

"They took everything I had, Peeta." I say, my voice thick and tired. The tears continue to flow, and I wish more than anything that Amelia or my mother were here to comfort me. I glance down at the bracelet on my wrist, the one that was passed down to Amelia before my mother died. The one that was given to me less than a year later following Amelia's years old, and I had already lost them both. Only my father had been left, not that that was worth much. I had lost him long before I had lost either of them. A part of me knows I never really had him to begin with. I hiccup another sob and a deep ache forms in my chest as I think of him—as I think of them. I'm not usually one to talk about my feelings, but the words flow as freely as my tears.

"How…" another sob leaves my mouth, "How is it not enough for them? Now they want to take my life too." My eyes sting and my throat feels too tight, but I keep crying. I need to get this out now. I can't afford to be this emotional with the Games right around the corner. Not when I promised Mabel and Mr. Fairbain that I would try.

Peeta looks at me with eyes so full of sympathy that I almost have to look away. Normally I'd be embarrassed over how emotional I'm being, but right now I'm too tired to care. I force myself to keep eye contact.

"I can't tell you that everything will be okay, Briar," he says softly, "but you're strong. You can do this. What they're doing with your sister and with Cato, that's just a game to them," he says sadly. We lapse back into silence as I try to reign in my emotions, breathing in deeply as my sobs subside.

"I know that Peeta, I do." My voice is quiet and shaky, but I've finally calmed down enough to speak. "It just came as a shock to me, that's all. I won't let them get to me, and I don't plan on going down without a fight," I tell him with what I hope is a reassuring smile, but my puffy eyes and stained cheeks probably make it unconvincing. "Really Peeta, I'll be okay."

He nods once and gives me a comforting smile. "Alright, I'll let you get some sleep then. But Briar, if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

I whisper a thank you, and then he's gone from the room.

My mind is still muddled from everything that's happened today, but I'm too tired to think about it anymore. I pull back the covers and climb into bed without bothering to change, praying that sleep will come quickly.

That night I dream of the 69th Hunger Games, except this time it's my throat they slit. And I'm awake to feel every excruciating second of it.


	5. Chapter 4: Tools of the Trade

**Chapter 4: Tools of the Trade**

I hate the Capitol as soon as I see it. The buildings are huge, reaching so far into the sky that I'm sure I could see for miles if I stood at the top of one. The tallest in the entire city is the Training Center, and I make a mental note to go to the top at some point over the next few days, if only to get away. The structures here are nothing like the buildings we have back in Twelve. All of ours are made from wood or brick, and most of them are falling apart. But all of the buildings here are made from different types of metal and stone, and are crisp and clean, and well maintained. But despite their opulence and sturdy construction, they are just as depressing⎯maybe even more so. It's all so fake. There is nothing welcoming about their sharp lines and grandiose size, and I find myself missing my small home back in the Seam as we enter the Capitol.

I look out the window at the blur of color waiting for us. _People._ They're all dressed in a myriad of vibrant shades with their dyed skin, powdered wigs, and bright outfits. I glance back at Effie who is talking excitedly to Katniss and Haymitch, practically falling over herself in her excitement to be here, and then back to the crowd on the other side of the glass. I will never understand their concept of beauty. The stranger they dress, the better they think they look. It doesn't make any sense, but then again, nothing about the Capitol really does.

The station is swarming with Capitol residents as we pull in, all of them pushing and shoving as they desperately try to get a glimpse of this year's tributes. I remember Effie saying something about how the residents of the city don't work, which explains why it looks like the entire population has turned up just to see us. My eyes narrow as I watch them scream our names, frantically waving and trying to get our attention. Their lives practically revolve around the Games, and now that they're about to begin, it's like a dam has broken⎯a sea of anticipation and excitement swallowing them whole.

 _They just want a good show._

I lick my lips as I remember everything that happened last night and what Peeta had said to me about it. As angry as it makes me, I know that he's right, and despite my nightmares, I awoke feeling more at ease and even more determined. So I push down any resentment I feel towards them and feign my own excitement, smiling and waving at the people outside. They go crazy for it: their screams reaching a higher pitch than before, and a few of them even look about ready to faint. It's a surreal experience; all of these people screaming for me like I actually mean something to them. I don't fool myself into thinking that's actually the case though. They care about their tribute, not me. This is all about entertainment for them, so I do my best to act the part of whatever story they've built up around me in the few hours since I was reaped.

I hear shuffling and see the others come to join me at the window as the train comes to stop, all of them trying to play up the excitement as well. A few of the women practically melt on the spot when Karn steps up to the glass, giving them the same smirk that's been glued to his face since yesterday. I want nothing more than to scowl and roll my eyes at how shallow they all are, but I just keep smiling and waving, trying to make them love me.

"Oh, would you just look at the crowd," Effie says behind me. I can almost feel the excitement rolling off of her in waves as she makes her way to the doors. She stops in front of them before turning to face my fellow tributes and me.

"Now everyone remember what I told you. Big smiles. Stand up straight." She turns towards the three mentors standing to my right, smiling and saying, "That includes you three as well." Effie's tone is light, but there is an underlying threat, and I can't stop the small laugh that comes out when all three put smiles on their faces. Peeta's looks sincere enough, but Katniss and Haymitch's look a little painful and entirely mocking respectively, causing our escort to tut at them in response.

Taking a deep breath, Effie tries again. "Just _try_ to be pleasant," she sighs with an earnest look, and then the doors open.

Effie is the first to step out, and we're all ushered out of the train behind her. Despite being swarmed by cameras at District Twelve's station, I'm overwhelmed as I step into the crowd, realizing that that was nothing compared to this. The sound is deafening, the screaming and the clicking of cameras creating a loud roar in my ears. It's almost painful, but I just continue to smile and wave until we reach our destination.

* * *

"Maybe we should scrub her down one more time."

I grit my teeth, silently praying that he says no. I'm pretty sure I'll have no skin left if they try to put any more of that rough foam on my body. I feel vaguely like one of the animals Mr. Fairbain and I used to work on as my prep team rubs my skin away and rips all the hair from my body, leaving me like a piece of raw meat on the cold slab beneath me.

"Hmmm," Petronia says, pursing her lips while looking up and down my body. I've been naked for the better part of two hours, but I still feel incredibly embarrassed as she looks over me. Her silent appraisal has a blush forming on my face and spreading all the way down to my chest as I try not to squirm under her judging eye. I remain silent through the entire process due to a combination of both my embarrassment at my current state of undress as well as having nothing to contribute as they comment on every little aspect of my body.

Petronia, like all the other people of the Capitol, is dressed in clothes that probably cost more than everything I own put together. She's has long lavender hair with orange streaks, both of which contrast terribly with the green tattoos on her face. But aside from these features, she seems fairly normal. A little odd, but not nearly as odd as the other two members of my prep team: Garric and Clio, the person who is currently questioning if I should be put through another round of torture. Normal is about the last word I'd use to describe either of them. Garric is a short and thin man, who for some unknown reason, has decided that his skin looks its best when dyed a blue that reminds me of the sky. His hair is spiky and gold, and his mouth has been reshaped so that it looks mildly like that of a fish. Like Garric, Clio's appearance has been altered to fit the Capitol standard of beauty. Her face is sharp and thin in a way that is not at all natural, with red tattoos swirling in different patterns to cover nearly every inch. Her hair is also red, as are her nails, which are about two inches long and pointed into sharp edges. I have to fight the urge to flinch whenever she points one in my direction. They look like they could do almost as much damage as a butcher's knife. Her physical appearance is nearly as intimidating as her personality.

"She's just so dirty, Petronia," Clio says as she watches her circle me.

I find it hard to believe that there is even an ounce of dirt on me after all of the scrubbing and waxing that has taken place, but Petronia seems to agree with Clio, and they begin the process of scrubbing me down once more. This is followed up by even more waxing from Clio and some work on my nails by Garric. Eventually—mercifully—Petronia orders them to grease me down. It instantly soothes my irritated flesh, and I let out a sigh of relief when my skin no longer feels itchy and hot. I'm told to stand, and the three of them step back to inspect their work.

"Yes, this will do nicely," Garric pipes. "It's amazing what a little cleaning can do for you." I raise my eyebrows slightly. _A_ little _cleaning? I've been here for three hours._

"It really is fortunate, and quite a surprise, that underneath all the dirt, and grime, and hair, there is an attractive girl," Petronia adds with a smile. "It will make things much easier for you." I don't even bother being offended by the comment. It's one of the less offensive things she's said since I've arrived. Besides, I know none of them intend to be rude. Much like Effie, they're trying to help in the best way they know.

"Thank you." I give them my most charming smile "You've done a wonderful job. I'm sure it wasn't easy. I've never done anything like this before," I add with a light laugh. They all nod in agreement at my words.

"It's no problem at all. There's more to work with than I originally thought. Your hair for instance, is lovely. But imagine if it were a longer than your shoulders… and pink…" Clio trails off, turning towards her team and talking about me as if I'm not in the room.

"We'll leave that for Cinna to decide," Garric eventually says. At the mention of my designer, the other two smile gleefully and begin to prattle on about him and his designs. I stand there awkwardly, painfully aware that I am still naked, until they seem to remember my presence.

"Oh, he works wonders," Petronia gushes. "Wait here, we'll go get him now that you're finished." She leaves the room with the other two trailing behind her.

Despite the painful process I've just undergone, I find myself in a surprisingly good mood as I wait to meet Cinna for the first time. I remember watching the tribute parade last year⎯the complete shock and awe that I had felt when Katniss and Peeta came on screen with the flames burning behind them. Katniss' persona as the Girl on Fire is part of the reason she was so popular during her Games⎯why so many people wanted to sponsor her. It was new, completely unexpected, and a welcome change from the usual coal-miner get up, and people fell in love with her for it. I have no idea what Cinna has planned for me, but I hope that it will be as effective as his designs were last year. I can use all the help I can get.

I'm pulled out of my musings when the door suddenly swings opens and a draft of cold air hits me. I resist the urge to cover myself as a man I recognize as Cinna walks into the room. He looks exactly as I remember from last year: infinitely more normal than the other people of the Capitol.

"Hello, Briar." He smiles and holds out a hand for me to shake. "I'm Cinna."

I can't help thinking about how strange this is⎯standing naked in front of a complete stranger who's waiting to dress me up and show me off to the people betting on my life. It makes the knots in my stomach tighten painfully, but I try to focus on something else. His causal nature takes me a bit off guard, but I raise my arm and extend my hand out to his, shaking it.

"How are you feeling? Nervous?" he asks as he circles me, checking the work done by my prep team. _Nervous?_ Terrified is a more apt term, but I don't feel comfortable enough with Cinna to be that vulnerable, even if Katniss and Peeta trust him.

"Nervous is one way to put it," I say instead.

Even though I don't say what's really on my mind, I feel as if Cinna knows what I mean, because he gives me a comforting smile. "It's perfectly understandable. It's a lot to take in." His tone is soft, and I find myself liking him more and more as the seconds pass by. His accent doesn't grate on my nerves like the others do.

He hands me a robe and then motions for me to follow him through a door to the right of us, and although I'm confused, I do so without question, pulling on the robe as I go. The first thing I see when we enter is a table full of food. I don't even realize how hungry I am until the smell hits me. My stomach growls, and I feel my face flush, but Cinna merely chuckles.

"Why don't you have something to eat while I explain what you'll be wearing tonight?"

I give him a thankful look and make my way over to the table. I don't really know what most of the food is, so I make a plate of whatever looks the most appealing. I take a seat on the couch as Cinna begins to tell me about his ideas.

"Do you know how designers decide what their tributes will wear?" he asks.

"We're supposed to represent the industry of our district. That's why our tributes are always coal miners… or were coal miners," I amend.

He nods. "Exactly. But I didn't want District Twelve to be coal miners last year, and I don't plan on having you be one this year either."

 _Thank God._

"You're not going to set me on fire, are you?" I ask a little fearfully. I don't mean to say it out loud, but Cinna doesn't seem to mind the question.

He laughs and says, "No, nothing like that. I assume your familiar with the process of coal mining?"

I furrow my brows at his question but nod my head anyway.

"So you know what canaries do. What role they play in the mines?"

I'm officially lost. I don't understand where this conversation is going, and I have to wrack my brain to recall the information he's asking about. My father works in the mines, but we never really discussed it. Most of my information about them comes from Mr. Fairbain or from school. Almost everything we talk about in school has to do with coal, so I know I must have learned about canaries at some point. I remember reading something about gas and⎯ it suddenly dawns on me what their role is, but it only serves to make me even more confused.

"The miners bring them down into the tunnels with them," I say slowly. "If the canary stops singing or dies, then the miners know that there's a carbon monoxide or methane leak. It's how they know to get out," I finish with a questioning look on my face. I have no doubt that whatever Cinna has designed will be beautiful, but I can't help feel like he's missed the mark on the symbolism. Canaries are sacrifices. They die so that the miners can live, and while I appreciate the effort for change, it's not exactly the idea I want to put out there. I might be better off wearing nothing but a bunch of coal dust.

"Yes, canaries are an essential part of the system. Without them, the people would perish. But more important is what they represent."

"I'm sorry," I say with a shake of my head. "I don't follow."

"Caged canaries represent entrapment and unhappiness," he tells me.

Well at least that's fitting. I'm in the Hunger Games. Trapped and unhappy are definitely two words that represent my situation.

"But a canary _without_ the cage symbolizes intellect, freedom, and the future," he elaborates. "That what's you're fighting for, Briar⎯your future."

He doesn't say it, but I can hear the words in the silence anyway. _For freedom._

Oh. _Oh_. I can't stop the grin from spreading across my face as I look at my designer. Cinna smiles back at me in return.

"Oh my, you just look fantastic!" Effie squeals in her high Capitol accent. "Cinna has truly outdone himself once again. I'm telling you, the man is a genius." I give her a broad smile at the compliment.

Like Effie, my prep team had been thrilled when they first saw me in Cinna's newest creation, going on and on about how amazing the dress is and how fantastic I look. I begrudgingly admit that the three hours of prepping I went through paid off. I've never been one to see myself as beautiful⎯there was never any time or reason to worry about looks in Twelve⎯but as I stand in front the mirror looking at my reflection, I can't help but feel just that. My hair has been done up in an intricate bun with small gold feathers intertwined throughout, and Garric has manicured my fingernails to perfection. I'm surprised to see that they are done so simply, with only a clear, shiny material coating them. My makeup is a bit more complex⎯ done in a manner that makes my face look sharp and bird-like. But even with all of this, it is the dress that takes my breath away.

The bodice is form fitting, with long sleeves and a stiff collar that frames my face and forms a V-shape on my chest. The front stops mid-thigh and then slopes down as it wraps around my legs, resting just above the back of my knees. Laid underneath is a sheer white fabric that puffs out where the bodice ends and goes to the floor, the bottom of which is covered in intricate gold detailing. The entirety of the top piece is made of yellow feathers that have been overlaid and coated with a liquid that makes them shine and appear gold under the light. The dress is gorgeous, and perfectly captures Cinna's vision.

"Everyone is going to love you," Effie beams. "The sponsors will simply have to support you after this."

"Thank you, Effie," I tell her, pouring as much earnestness into the comment as I can. Despite my own opinion on Effie and my prep team's sense of style, I can't help the spark of hope that flares in me at their words. They are Capitol citizens after all. If I can impress them, then maybe I can impress the sponsors too. I might just be able to do this.

Just then Katniss and Althea walk into the room, Thalia trailing a little behind them. She's dressed similarly to me, though her outfit is a little more playful, which I assume has to do with her age. I guess they're going for the youthful angle.

I can tell she's nervous, so I give her a small smile and tell her that she looks nice. She blushes in response and returns the compliment. I don't say anything else to her though. Getting too close with the competition can be dangerous. Instead, I turn my attention to our mentor.

"You look nice too, Katniss," I say to the other girl. She's wearing a flowing orange dress that reminds me of the one she wore to the recap after she had won her Games. It's clearly meant to play on the fire theme, and it makes her look beautiful.

She gives me a genuine smile. "Thanks. So do you. Cinna designs some pretty incredible stuff, huh?"

"You're telling me," I say with a chuckle. "I've never worn anything like it. If this doesn't do the trick, I don't know what will." It's partly the truth, but everything that's happening regarding my dress has me feeling light for the first time since I was reaped, so I don't let it bother me. I can't do anything about it now.

"This is going to be such a good year. I can already feel it," Effie babbles. "Come on now. We need to get you two to the chariots."

Effie leads us through a dark hallway, stopping when we reach an elevator. She presses a button on the wall, and there's a _ding_ as the doors slide open. The ride down to the chariots is short and full of Effie's commentary.

"I cannot wait to see the look on Zella's face when she sees you two. I'm sure her tributes don't look nearly as good," she chirps.

I smile at her comments as we walk towards the entrance of the backstage area, but I feel my good mood disappear as soon as we arrive. Most of the other tributes are already here, chatting away with their mentors and looking ready to go. I glance around nervously at my competition, feeling more and more anxious as I take in how good some of them look. District One is dressed as extravagantly as they are every year. Their outfits are blue and studded with jewels, but despite the flamboyance of their clothes, the boys still manage to look strong and the girls look just as beautiful. I force myself to look away, and wince at what I find. _So maybe not everyone is dressed well_.

District Four's tributes are wearing outfits that I think are supposed to represent fishermen and mermaids, but they look so ridiculous that it's hard to tell. The girls' outfits are shiny and revealing with a strange looking tail, while the boys' consists of nothing other than a loose fitting pair of pants that seem to be made of rope. They're all fit enough to pull it off, but I cringe as I try to imagine myself wearing the mermaid-esque outfit. For once in my life, I'm glad that I'm from District Twelve. I let my gaze wander away from the poorly styled quartet, but I instantly regret it as my eyes land on the monstrous boy from Two. He's dressed in some sort of gold armor that emphasizes just how large he really is, and he appears to be having a very tense conversation with his mentor. _His brother_. My stomach drops as soon as I see them, and I shiver slightly when I feel a chill run up my spine. I'm not ready for this, I realize as I watch them. I don't know how I'm supposed to do this⎯how I'm supposed to kill these people. Katniss, Effie, and Thalia are all talking behind me, no doubt about something important, but I'm rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away.

"Huh, it looks like we might just have another successful parade this year." Haymitch's voice sounds behind me, finally pulling me from my trance. I turn around to see him approaching with Peeta, Collis, and Karn. They have two Capitol designed people with them, who I take to be Portia and Gaius. My fellow tributes are dressed in black outfits that are made of a mixture of wool and leather. They're wearing a black shirt with a sleeveless jacket over it, which is large and billowing, and completed by a hood that almost completely shrouds their faces. They look intimidating, and I think it will go over extremely well with the sponsors.

Effie beams as they come to a stop in front of us. "Wonderful! Simply wonderful! Your stylists have done a marvelous job," she says, smiling in the direction of the designers. Haymitch purses his lips as he looks us over, giving a nod to indicate his agreement to Effie's words. I feel relieved at his approval.

"You look great, Briar," Peeta tells me with a smile.

"Thank you, Peeta. You look pretty good yourself," I say, shooting him a small grin. I mean it, too. His blonde hair is slicked to the side, and he's dressed in a cream colored suit that matches well with Katniss' dress. They look like a couple, which I suspect is the point.

"What are you supposed to be?" comes Karn's deep voice from beside me. He sounds slightly mocking, and I narrow my eyes at him. He raises a single brow as he looks between Thalia and me, silently appraising us.

"A canary. You?"

"Fire boss," he grunts back. I'm impressed by our team's research; it's a nice twist on our industry.

My father is a fire boss in the mines back home. Like canaries, they're job is to protect the miners against any gas leaks. They walk through the tunnels with a stick that has a candle attached to the end that explodes any time they encounter gas. Their only protection is their clothes, which are very similar to that of Karn and Collis, especially in regards to the material and the hood. It's a fitting match: the canary and the fire boss. Karn doesn't seem happy with the choice though, because his usual smirk has been replaced by a scowl. I think they're outfits look good, but I know he won't agree with me, so I don't bother telling him so.

I hear the sound of a bell, indicating that the parade will start in five minutes. My palms begin to sweat and my pulse skyrockets, and I turn towards my mentors, waiting for their direction.

"Remember, this is your first chance to make an impression," Haymitch says. "Do whatever you can to keep them cheering. Wave. Smile. Blow them kisses. You don't want them to just like you, you gotta make them love you." I nod my head along with his words. _I can do that._ _Just make them love you._

"You guys will do great," Peeta assures. Katniss gives us all a small smile, and then they're gone, taking their seats with the other mentors.

I shakily step onto the chariot, taking my place next to Karn. His smirk has returned, though it's difficult for me to see under his hood. His confidence makes me even more nervous, and my knuckles start to turn white with the force I'm using to hold onto the chariot.

"Hey, just breathe," comes Cinna's soothing voice. I look to my right to see him watching me as he pries my hand away from the side of the chariot, breaking my death grip. "You'll do fine."

I face forward and take a few deep breaths, and then the chariot takes off.

The movement catches me off guard for a minute, but I quickly regain my balance. The sound of shrill screams begin to flood my ears as we pull closer to the entrance, the crowd already losing themselves as the tributes make their first appearances. I can hear the pitch and volume of the cheering change every few seconds, indicating whether or not they approve of a particular district or tribute. The screams start out excessively loud and continue on for a while, no doubt their way of showing support for the Career districts. It steadily dies down after that, only perking up once or twice when the middle districts pass through, but I'm not sure whom it's for. Just as our chariots pull onto the City Circle, the screams reach a fever pitch. I'm a little confused for a moment, wishing I could see what has these people practically frothing at the mouth, but when I catch a glimpse of the screen and see Karn and I standing there, my confusion dies out. They're cheering for us.

I know a part of their lively response has to do with Cinna's fame, as well as the fact that District Twelve is home to the Capitol's new favorite couple. A part of me even wonders if it has to do with the spotlight I received in last night's recap. But whatever it is, it's a welcome boost to our already massive reception. We look ominous and intimidating as we appear on screen⎯Karn in his black outfit, shrouding hood, and sinister smirk, and me with my sharp features and otherworldly gown. The way my dress shines under the lights creates a blur of yellow and gold behind me, giving the feint appearance of wings. Karn's outfit leaves a trail of gray, like smoke. The people are going crazy over it: screaming our names and throwing various flowers and trinkets in our direction. I put a smile on my face, but with the way my make-up is done, it looks a little dangerous, which only makes the crowd even more wild. Their cheering has me feeling more confident, and I remove my hand from the side of the chariot and wave at them, keeping the smile on my face the entire time.

* * *

The chariot pulls to stop once we're back in the Training Center, and I let out a relieved sigh. I feel drained from all the smiling and waving now that the adrenaline has worn off. I step off the chariot and begin scanning the room for any familiar faces.

"That was spectacular!" Effie's high voice rings out, causing me to turn around. I smile as she approaches⎯she's practically dancing towards us in her excitement. "It was just as I predicted. The crowd loved you. Once again, District Twelve is going to be the center of attention," she breathes out joyously.

"You guys did good," Katniss says. She's not much of a talker and from what I know of her, she's not easy to impress, so I'm grateful for her reassurance.

Haymitch nods his assent. "Not bad. Not bad at all. We can work with that."

I grin at them through my relief. The mood of the group seems to a happy one, everyone content with how our look went over in the parade.

"If you could see the other escorts' faces," Effie says. "They were just beside themselves."

"The mentors too," Peeta adds.

He continues talking, but I don't hear the rest of what he says over the sound of the blood roaring in my ears. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I look at the group across from us. Districts One and Two are talking, but I can't hear anything they say from this distance. It's not hard to guess though⎯they're already forming an alliance. I'm about to look away when one of the boys from One looks over at me. His eyes trail up and down my body, and I fight the uneasy feeling that begins to form in my stomach. The look he's giving me is a sexual one, punctuated by the obscene gesture he makes with his mouth. It's disgusting, and so despite how uncomfortable he makes me feel, I find myself scowling at him. I don't know how long we stand there, him smirking and me glowering, but it's too long. Our little staring contest draws the attention of none other than Cato, who turns his head to see whatever it is that has his new team member distracted. The scowl is immediately wiped from my face and I feel my insides freeze over as we make eye contact. His eyes are narrowed at me, but I can't read the expression on his face, so I don't know if he recognizes me from the recap last night, or from our special little feature. I feel more and more uneasy, but I try to keep my face clear of any emotion.

A hand on my arm makes me jump slightly, and I turn to look at its owner. I blink rapidly at the blond boy next to me, and it's only then that I realize that everyone in my group is watching me, no doubt having noticed my staring contest with the boys from One and Two. My fellow tributes look confused, not really understanding what's going on, but Peeta and Effie are both looking at me with concern, while Katniss and Haymitch are frowning slightly.

Haymitch glances over towards the Careers before grabbing my arm. "Come on," he says, leading me towards the elevator. "We don't need to be here anymore."

I don't say anything as he leads me away, the rest of our group trailing behind us. The doors open almost immediately, and we all step in as Haymitch presses the button for the doors to close. I look back into the room as we wait for the elevator to start moving and see that Cato is still watching me. Haymitch jabs the button again, but the doors remain open. Suddenly something steps in front of me, covering my view of the boy from Two. I look up at the person standing before me, who's staring at me with what could possibly be the most charming smile in all of Panem⎯a smile that belongs to none other than Finnick Odair.

"Room for two more?" he asks in a voice I can only describe as a purr. He doesn't wait for an answer, instead stepping into the elevator with one of his tributes behind him. I notice that it's one of the girls⎯the one who volunteered. I think her name is Nerissa. Her mermaid outfit looks even worse up close, but she somehow still manages to look beautiful.

I have to admit that Finnick looks just as good, if not better. Even through his suit, it's easy to see that he is in excellent shape. He's tan, with bronze hair and beautiful green eyes that give him a natural beauty people in the Capitol could only dream of. It's easy to see why the men and women here have fallen in love with him. The television really doesn't do him any justice.

Finnick settles in beside me with Nerissa to his right. "That was quite the show you put on out there. Really something," he says with a bright smile. There's humor in his voice, which makes me wonder if he's teasing me. I hear Nerissa huff beside him, clearly not happy with his statement. Whether it's because we outshined her in the parade, or because I'm from a lower district, I'll never know. My encounter with the two Careers has me feeling unsure of myself, and I don't trust my voice to sound steady, so I give him a short smile and face forward.

He doesn't seem at all bothered by my lack of response, instead turning to look at the other occupants. "Haymitch. Peeta," he says with a nod. "Katniss." Another charming smile. The corners of my mouth lift up a little at the look on Katniss' face. She is not impressed by the great Finnick Odair.

He treats us to another round of his bright grin and then his gaze settles on me. "Can I give you a word of advice? You might want to be a bit more careful there, kiddo."

I frown at his words, not understanding what he means before I realize that he must have noticed my encounter with Cato and the boy from One. My frown deepens, and I look up at him.

"Careful about what?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. "I didn't _do_ anything." I'm aware that my voice sounds defensive, but I can't stop it, nor do I really want to. He's making it sound as if this is what I wanted: like it's my fault.

He holds up his hands in a placating gesture, but there's still a little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm just saying. You don't want to be attracting the wrong kind of attention."

I'm about to reply when suddenly the elevator _dings_ and the doors open, indicating that we've reached the fourth floor.

Finnick smiles at me before glancing around the car. "This was fun. We should do it again some time." With one last dazzling smile, he steps out of the elevator with Nerissa, and the doors close behind him.

The elevator begins to move again, and I hear Effie speak up from behind me. "That was Finnick Odair. Isn't he lovely?" she sighs with a dreamy look on her face that has Haymitch grunting and Katniss rolling her eyes.

"He's something alright," I say, still irritated by his comments. I know that his words hold some truth, and that I should probably heed his advice, but the teasing way he said it has me more than a little unsettled. I don't want their attention. I don't need a target on my back.

The elevator pulls to a stop again, signaling that we've arrived at our floor. Once the doors open, we all begin to make our way into the room, Effie practically pushing us in her haste to get to the front to lead us in.

"These," she exclaims with a sweeping gesture, "are your quarters. Beautiful, aren't they?"

I nod my head as I take in the room. It's fancy like the train was, but much larger. I don't really have time to admire it though, because Effie says that we will be having dinner in an hour, and regardless of how much I love my dress, I am eager to change and wash the make-up from my face.

My room is unsurprisingly plush and large. I don't spend much time exploring what it has to offer though, instead choosing to shower first. I grapple with it for a while, just as I did on the train yesterday, but I eventually figure it out. I stay in there for as long as possible, scrubbing at my skin harshly when I remember how the boy from One looked at me. When I'm finished, I go to the fancy closet in my room, and program an outfit from it. The technology they have in the Capitol is fascinating, and I wish I could appreciate it, but it's hard with the Games coming up.

When I'm finished getting dressed, I walk back to the main room for dinner. Everyone is already seated, discussing tomorrow's schedule.

Haymitch is the first to notice me as I make my way over to my seat. "Ah, looks who's decided to join us." The six other people seated at the table turn their heads to look at me.

"There you are," Effie tsks. "I was just about to come get you."

I give her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I lost track of time." Everyone seems to accept my answer because they all return to their food and conversation. I listen in while filling my plate with food. I'm starving, and everything looks amazing so I'm content to eat and listen for the time being.

"Since there's four of you this year, we're going to have to divide up the mentoring," Effie tells us. "Peeta will work with Thalia and Katniss is with Collis."

"So who do I have?" Karn asks. His tone is not exactly friendly, and everyone notices.

"You and the kid over there," Haymitch says pointing a finger in my direction, "have the pleasure of working with me," he finishes with a mocking smile.

Despite Haymitch's droll comment, I'm not disappointed with the selection. In fact, I think it will be the most beneficial for everyone involved. In the twenty-four hours I've known Thalia, I've ascertained that her personality is meek and jumpy by nature. A drunken, grumpy Haymitch would be too harsh and she'd probably remind Katniss too much of her sister, so Peeta is clearly the best choice. Collis seems eager to learn and is calm enough not to get on Katniss' nerves, so it's a fitting pair as well. And Haymitch is smart. He's been through these Games so many times over that he's bound to have picked up some useful information, even if he was drunk for most of it.

Karn doesn't seem too pleased though. He practically growls under his breath. "Shouldn't we get to work with them, too? They might actually know something useful."

The silence that falls over the table is practically deafening, but Karn doesn't seem to think there's anything wrong with what he just said.

"He got us out of the Games," Katniss hisses, indicating to her and Peeta. "So you better appreciate having him as a mentor."

Karn just meets her glare with a bored look, and Haymitch cuts in. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. Looks like this kid will have to learn the same lesson I had to teach you." He stares at Karn with a hard look in his eye, his voice brokering no argument. "That attitude⎯thinking you're better than any of this⎯is what's gonna get you killed in the arena. Won't matter what help you get or who it's from. So if you want to live, I suggest you let it go and except the help I give you."

The tension in the air is thick, but after a few moments, Karn nods his head.

"Good," Haymitch says gruffly. "Now that that's over with, let's talk about something _useful_. What are everyone's skills?" I look to the other tributes. They're also glancing around the table, wondering who will speak first. "No one? No one has anything they'd like to share?" he asks incredulously.

Collis is the first to answer. "I work around the mines. I help the miners with the coal." I've barely heard him speak since yesterday. It's weird to hear his voice. It's deeper than I thought it would be.

Katniss nods. "Good, that means you have some strength. That can help you," she says with a glance over at Peeta. He quickly averts his eyes. I frown as I notice their stiff behavior from the train hasn't changed. It comes in and out, like they can't control it. I shake my head, pushing the thoughts out of my mind.

 _I don't have time to worry about this. It's their problem._

Peeta's strength had been his specialty in the Games. He managed to score an eight with it, so I know that it's pretty highly valued. Looking at Collis now, it's clear that he has some physicality to him. He's not as big as Karn or Peeta, but he doesn't look weak by any means. If they can find him a weapon that he's half decent with, he'll be tough competition. A part of me hopes that they don't, because if they do find one, he'll be a threat. And if he's a threat then I might have to kill him, and I really don't want to do that. Especially when I remember how sick his mother is.

Thalia is a little harder to get anything out of. She's only fourteen, and despite being from the Seam, she has almost no experience working. She looks ready to burst into tears as the conversation goes on, but calms down a little when Peeta promises her they'll find something. I don't believe it, but what I think doesn't really matter.

"What about you?" Haymitch grunts at Karn.

"I'm strong, and I'm good with anything I can swing," he answers, his voice sure and more than a little arrogant.

"What makes you think that?" Haymitch questions in a dry voice.

Karn's smirk has returned full force, and I start to wonder if he knows any other facial expressions. He's clearly confident in his abilities. "My father works with metals. I help him break them up and shape them." All three mentors nod in his direction, silently telling him that his skills will be helpful in the arena.

Karn's father is the metallurgist in the Merchant's Village, so I know he's telling the truth about what he can do. But still, it's not his skills that have me worried, although they make him potentially dangerous. He is two years above me in school and his father's shop is close to Mr. Fairbain's, so while I hadn't met him until yesterday, I had heard of and seen him on numerous occasions. He has a reputation for being cruel and aggressive, and a lot of people dislike him for it. When I heard his name called at the reaping and saw him strut up to the stage with that ever-present smirk, I feared that the rumors were true. But hearing how eager he sounds now, I'm sure they are. I decide in that moment that I really don't like him.

"And you, kid? Got any special talents?"

I look up from my plate to see Haymitch staring at me expectantly. "I, uh…I work with a butcher back home."

Haymitch leans back in his chair as he looks me over. "So you have some familiarity with knives and cleavers."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "Yeah. I help prepare the meat. Skinning, stripping, tenderizing, cutting. That sort of thing."

"So you know the important places the in the body⎯the weakest parts and the ones that bleed the most?" he asks. Effie looks horrified at the crude question.

"Yes, but none of that is effective at long range, and unless the other tributes lay down and let me skin them, I don't think any of this will help much."

Effie gives a shocked gasp at my comment. "There will be no talking of skinning at the dinner table!"

I smile sheepishly at our escort and mumble a quick apology.

"Any weapon skill is useful in the arena. You can use knives and your familiarity with cleavers might transfer to an ax. _Might_. You'll have to test out different weapons in the Training Center over the next few days." I nod my head at him. "That goes for all of you. We can go over the rest of the strategy in the morning." Everyone nods in agreement, and we spend the rest of dinner discussing various things about the Games.

The rest of the night goes by quickly, and before I know it, we're all heading off to bed. My mind is racing with thoughts of everything that has happened today: the parade, the boy from One, Cato, training tomorrow. I feel overwhelmed, and I know that even if I don't have any more nightmares, I won't be getting much sleep tonight. I shuffle towards my room, dreading the thought of closing my eyes. Just as I'm about to close my door, I hear Haymitch call my name. Slowly, I make my way back to the main room where he's standing near the window, wondering what else he could want to talk to me about.

He's silent for a few moments, staring down at the city below. I'm about to ask him why he called me when he turns to face me. "About what Odair said in the elevator⎯"

"I wasn't trying to get their attention," I say quickly, jumping to defend myself.

He nods, but the serious look remains on his face. "That may be, kid, but now you've got it. Odair may seem like a pretty boy, but he knows what he's talking about." He gives me a shrewd look. "You should listen to what he says."

A heavy silence falls around us as I swallow and nod my head at him. He seems satisfied with my answer, and without another word, he turns and heads to his room, leaving me alone to think about how much trouble I've gotten myself into.


	6. Chapter 5: Survival Smile

**Chapter 5: Survival Smile**

I wake up in a panic, feeling slightly disoriented and entirely terrified. My hand goes to my throat, checking for damage, but finding none. Then I remember where I am. _The Capitol._ I close my eyes and let out a shaky breath. The leering boy from One and Cato have become a part of my sleeping pattern, and I have the feeling that isn't going to change anytime soon. A shiver slides down my spine as I recall them chasing and taunting me, but I quickly force it from my thoughts. I lay still for a moment, trying to slow my breath before rolling over to look at the clock beside my bed. 7:23. I groan and scrub a hand over my face. Training doesn't begin until 10:00, but I know that I won't be able to fall back asleep. Yawning, I force myself to climb out of bed and begin getting ready for today. The outfit laid out for me is basic—a plain pair of black pants and a blue shirt with a black Twelve embroidered on the back—but I cringe at how tight the material fits. It's flexible, which is helpful for training, but it clings to my body in a way that I'm not used to, or comfortable with. I sigh, pulling my hair into a high ponytail, and then putting on the pair of sturdy black boots sitting next to my door.

I can hear people talking as I make my way into the main room. I strain to hear who it is as I walk; eventually recognizing the voices as that of District Twelve's newest victors. When I enter, I notice they're sitting on the plush red couch, deep in conversation. For a couple, they've seemed pretty distant the last two days. I don't know if it's out of the ordinary for them, considering I don't know anything about their relationship. I briefly contemplate returning to my room so that they can keep talking, but decide against it, making sure that my footsteps are loud enough so that they hear me approaching. They both look up at me in surprise.

"Briar, what are you doing up this early?" Peeta asks as I enter the room. "Training doesn't start for another few hours."

I shrug and plop down on the couch next to them. "Couldn't sleep."

I don't tell them about my nightmares, I'm sure the bags under my eyes are evidence enough of my fitful sleep. Both Katniss and Peeta give me an understanding look. Of course they understand. They were in my place a year ago.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?" I question, looking between the two.

They answer simultaneously, blurting out a suspicious sounding "No." I raise my eyebrows at them, but don't question further. A silence falls over us as I look between the two teenagers who are now fidgeting and looking anywhere but at each other.

"So training…" I say as I fold my arms across my stomach and lean back in my seat. "Any ideas on what I should do?" I ask hopefully.

The two mentors glance at each before Peeta decides to take the lead. "You should hit the survival stations. Try to get in as many as you can." He pauses briefly. "And don't get sucked into any games with the other tributes," he adds after a moment. I avert my gaze at his pointed look, thinking back to last night.

"Don't let them push you around either," Katniss says. "Careers like to get a rise out of anyone they can. They walk around like they own the place, and they won't hesitate to try and intimidate you."

"What do I do if they approach me?"

I don't think it's likely to happen, but I want to be prepared just in case. Careers are notoriously sadistic, enjoying the thrill of playing with their food before they eat it, and after last night, I can't help but wonder if they've decided that I'm to be their first meal. I make a mental to avoid them at all cost.

"Don't rile them up anymore, but don't walk away letting them think you're weak either. You don't want to be marked as an easy target," Katniss says.

I nod my head at her words, ready to ask another question when Haymitch stumbles into the room. I can't tell if it's from drinking or drowsiness, but I really hope it's not the first. Haymitch may have been able to get his tributes through last year without being completely sober, but I doubt he'll be that lucky again. That last 23 years are enough to prove that. And I really don't want to die.

"Ah, early risers," Haymitch grumbles as he walks towards us. He throws himself unceremoniously onto the couch and puts his feet on the coffee table. I'm relieved to find that he doesn't smell like he's been drinking.

"We were just discussing Briar's strategy for the Training Center," Peeta informs the newest arrival.

Haymitch rolls his head to the side, looking blurrily at Peeta. "I don't recall asking."

I roll my eyes at his sour response, and both Peeta and Katniss give me a look that says not to get offended.

"Haymitch," Katniss says, giving the man a stern look.

After a moment, he sighs dramatically. "Alright, alright. Just give me a minute, and then we can talk about whatever your heart desires."

He gets up and walks towards the dining area, and I hear the clanking of glass from somewhere behind me, but I don't turn around to see what he's getting. We sit in silence until he makes his way back to the couch with a glass no doubt containing some variation of alcohol. When he sits back down, we all fix him with a look, indicating for him to start.

Haymitch looks me over and raises an eyebrow, "Good night?"

I stare at him blankly. He already knows the answer to the question.

"Spectacular," I say sardonically. "So can we talk about tactics now?" I'm getting impatient. I never thought I'd be eager to get into the Training Center, but I just want to get this all over with.

He raises another eyebrow at my impatience, but begins speaking. "What have these two told you so far?" he asks, pointing between Katniss and Peeta.

"Survival stations, avoid the Careers, don't look weak," I rattle off.

Haymitch purses his lips and nods his head. "All good advice, but you have to remember that there isn't just twenty-four of you; there's forty-eight. That means twice the amount of Careers to avoid." I groan slightly at that. "Now, the Training Center is brand new, larger than before, but it will still be crowded with tributes and the Careers will monopolize all the weapon stations. If you find out you're good with anything, make sure not to let too many of them see. You don't want to reveal all your cards just yet."

"I don't really have any secret weapons, Haymitch. I probably won't be more than mediocre with anything, if that."

There is no modesty in my statement. Through my years of work I've become used to wielding knives and cleavers, but I know that it won't make much of a difference in the arena. Those skills will only be helpful in hand-to-hand combat, and even that's doubtful. Besides, my size doesn't exactly lend itself to that. I wouldn't stand a chance against a larger opponent. If he's expecting me to be another Katniss, he's going to be severely disappointed, and I'm going to be severely dead.

Katniss shakes her head. "You don't have to be more than mediocre. Sure, weapon skills are useful, but it's a game of survival. How many dummies you can hit with a spear won't always matter in the arena."

 _Easy for you to say. You actually have a skill._

"Katniss is right. It's the smart competitors who win, which is why you're going to focus on the survival stations. At least for today," my mentor says. "Oh, and one more thing. If those Careers look at you again, don't let them know you're scared, but try not to piss anyone off either. They look at you or approach you; you smile and walk away. Keep them on their toes."

 _Easier said than done._

The Training Center is nearly full by the time we arrive. It's fifteen minutes to ten and most of the tributes have already formed a large, tense circle in the middle of the room. A few of them glance over in our direction as we step out of the elevator, but I successfully avoid eye contact with any of them, instead choosing to focus on the woman in the center. I pick a spot that looks only mildly intimidating, standing between one of the large boys from Seven and a tiny girl from Five.

The Training Center is huge, and I immediately understand what Effie meant when she said that they had spared no expense for the Quarter Quell. The room is filled with different stations, varying from things like fishing to weightlifting to simulated combat. I've never seen so many weapons in one place. They entire room is filled with different types, the metal shining and creating highlights on the dark interior.

The woman in the center, who introduces herself as Atala, begins to speak when the clock strikes ten. "Alright everyone, listen up. Today is your first of three days of training. But before we begin, there are some ground rules. When all of this is over, only two of you will be left standing, so if you don't want to be one of the other forty-six, I suggest you listen very closely. First and foremost, the instructors are here to help you. Take advantage of it. Second, there will be no fighting with your fellow tributes. There will plenty of time for that in the arena."

I shiver at the ripple of smirks I see break out across the room, but try to keep my attention on what Atala is saying. She tells us that we are free to travel around from station to station as we please. There will be specialists placed in each area to help us if we need it, and there are also assistants to practice hand-to-hand combat with if we wish. I take another glance around at the other tributes and immediately rule that out because of how pathetic I'd no doubt look. Like my mentors had done, the head trainer stresses the survival stations. I hope that none of the Careers follow her advice.

When Atala finishes with her instructions, she leaves us to our own devices. I take a quick look around, watching as the tributes disperse, trying to decide where to head first. Haymitch had suggested that we all work at different stations, so I make sure not to go to the areas that my district partners have gone to. I see that the snare station is practically empty, so I decide to try there first. I've never tried to make a snare, but I figure it could be an extremely useful skill in the arena, especially considering that I don't plan on starving to death. Plus, Katniss seemed pretty keen on knowing how to make one, and she won, so I figure it's good advice.

There's only one person at the station when I arrive. Her name is Lumen, a tall blonde girl from District Three who is apparently terrible at producing snares. Her first few attempts are horribly unsuccessful, and I have to make a conscious effort not to frown at her or ask if she needs any help. Not that I'd be able to do much. My first few attempts aren't much better than hers, but after a little help from the trainer, I complete a relatively good one. I need more practice, but I'm pretty confident that I'd be able to catch _something_ with it. Relief floods me when I find that I'm actually pretty good at snares, picking it up quickly, and even earning a small nod of approval from the trainer. _At least I'll be decent at something in the arena._

I'm in the middle of working through a more complicated snare when I hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

"You're pretty good at that."

I turn around to see a boy standing behind me, looking over my shoulder at my work. He looks to be around the same age as me, maybe a little younger, with sandy blond hair, big brown eyes, and a square jaw. He has a lanky build, standing almost a complete foot taller than me, but I can see that despite being thin, he's got some muscle on him. He also has a goofy grin on his face.

"Uh, thanks?"

"What district are you from?"

I raise an eyebrow at the question. He's standing right behind me, and with the way my hair is pulled up, I know that he can clearly see the twelve embroidered on my shirt. He just smiles and waits for an answer.

I give in. "Twelve. What about you?"

I mentally berate myself as soon as the words leave my mouth. I shouldn't be getting friendly with the other tributes. No good can come of it.

"District Nine," he says, the smile still plastered to his face. He holds out a hand to me. "My name's Barden."

I'm still crouched on the ground with the snare in my hand as I look between his face and the arm extended towards me. My brows furrow at how friendly he's being, and I continue to glance between his face and his hand while I contemplate what to do. I don't understand what he's doing. Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch had all warned me against interacting with the Careers, but this Barden clearly isn't one, and I'm at a loss for how to approach this situation. On one hand, talking to him could get me in trouble. He could be pretending to be nice in order to make me trust him, learning any skills I have and then using them against me in the arena. On the other hand, he could be useful. He doesn't seem to be overly confident, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have any skills. He could be a potential ally.

I make my decision, standing up and extending my hand out to his. He has a strong grip, so I know I was right about him being stronger than he looks. I pull my hand back and give him a small smile. "Briar."

He nods. "Oh, I know." My eyebrows shoot into my hairline at that, and he quickly jumps to elaborate. "I recognize you from the recap. And the tribute parade, though you're looking a lot less bird-like today," he adds, the corners of his lips tugging up.

 _He remembers me from the recap._ I want to ask if it's because of the reaping— if I looked like actual competition—or if it has to do with Caesar's little spotlight, but something tells me I won't like the answer. I don't want to be recognized for _that_. I don't want people lumping Cato and me together. I'm pleased with the comment about the parade though, sending a mental thank you to Cinna. If other tributes have cared to learn who I am, it means that sponsors may have too, and that Cinna has done his job better than I could have asked for.

"So," he says, breaking the silence, "you used to making these things? We don't really have a need for them in Nine. Not to many animals to catch in the grain fields."

"No, this is the first time I've ever tried. There really only used for hunting, and that's illegal in Twelve." I don't bother telling him that people still did it, just that I wasn't one of them.

"Hmm, well I guess we'll have to see if I can pick it up as easily as you," he says with a boyish grin. I shake my head but smile.

We continue to work at the snare station for a while. I discover a few things over the period: first, Barden is not as adept at snares as I am, and second, much to my chagrin, I actually like him. He's a got a quiet charm about him, with his droll humor and youthful attitude. His innocence is both enviable and little sad because I know that it can't last in the Games—it never does. But still, his warm personality reminds me of Peeta, making it hard not to enjoy his company. Soon enough though, an hour passes, and I decide that it's time to try my hand at something else, remembering Peeta's advice about going to as many stations as I can. I say goodbye to Barden and head over to the fire starting section.

The fire station is in the farthest corner of the room, which means that much like the snares, the area doesn't attract a lot of attention. It's perfect for trying to remain unnoticed by the other tributes, especially since all of the Careers think they are above survival skills such as this.

I light a fire easily on my first try, which surprises the trainer enough for her to try and test me with different materials. I build them with relative ease, but unlike the snares, this is an area I'm not particularly worried about learning for the arena. The winters are often harsh in Twelve, and no one has fancy technology for controlling the temperature inside their house, so fire starting is a skill that most people in my district develop early.

The simplicity of the activity allows me to relax a little, and I take some time to survey the area, looking for my fellow district members. I roll my eyes when I spot Thalia and Collis talking animatedly at the hammock making station, clearly have decided to forgo Haymitch's instructions of staying away from each other. It's a useless station and to make it worse, they also both seem to be terrible at it. I shake my head and build another fire before looking for Karn.

I really don't want to see his stupid smirking face, especially after breakfast this morning. Almost the entirety of the meal was spent talking over different strategies for the training room, most of which involved focusing on survival stations today, but Karn wasn't having any of it. He gave an impressive imitation of a Career as he smiled smugly, while going on and on about how effective he could be if he got his hands on a weapon. Even Effie didn't seem to be a fan of his arrogance.

I glower at the memory as I scan the room, and I scoff when I find him working at the ax station, but my annoyance is quickly replaced by apprehension when I realize that he's actually doing pretty well with it. His hits aren't the most accurate, but his physical prowess makes each swing hit deep, burying the ax far into the soft flesh of the dummy. If it isn't enough to kill someone, it will definitely maim them or slow them down at the very least. I feel sick just thinking about, but something stops me from focusing back on my fire. A prickling sensation between my shoulder blades makes me feel as if I'm being watched as I inspect my district partner.

I shift my gaze to the left to find the boy from One staring at me. Again. He's standing over by the sword station with about half of the Careers, all of which are watching as Cato maims dummy after dummy, oblivious to what One is doing. The fact that he is the only person in the group that is paying any attention to me doesn't make me feel any better. He's leering just like he was at the parade, and it makes my skin crawl in both disgust and fear. One of the girls—Nerissa—tries to get his attention, turning to look in my direction when her attempts fail. I can almost hear her growl from across the room when she spots me, and if looks could kill, I'd be dead before ever making it into the first arena. I keep eye contact though, remembering what Haymitch suggested this morning and pulling my face into a sweet smile. This only serves to make her even angrier, drawing the attention of the other Careers whom all turn to see what has One leering and Nerissa fuming. I keep the smile in place as I stand and thank the trainer before making my way over to the edible food and insects station. I don't look the see what any of their reactions are to my seeming indifference, but I hear the distinct sound of a sword slicing through a dummy and the clang as the pieces fall to the ground.

I take a deep breath when I arrive at the station, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart. I hope that the Careers' strict routine of avoiding anything not deadly or intimidating is enough to keep them from coming to join me. I can't help but wonder what's driving the boy from One to pay attention to me. Is it because he thinks I'm competition and wants to make me uncomfortable? Does he think I'll break under the pressure because of what happened to Amelia? Does he think I'm weak? Or is he really just that much of a creep? I suppose it doesn't really matter though.

I'm wasting my energy thinking about this. It's probably what he wants—to play some stupid mind game that distracts me from learning anything that could keep me alive in the arena. I scowl and set to work memorizing the different plants and insects, trying to put my energy into something useful. There are a lot of them: different bugs and plants that can be found in a variety of climates. I don't know which pieces will be helpful in the arena, so I study all the different items closely, trying to commit them to memory. I remember most of them with relative ease when the trainer comes to test me, although it takes me a few seconds to identify them. _Machineel, Cassava, Aconite, Kennelspur, Rhus…_ Mr. Fairbain always did say I picked things up quickly. Overall, I'm pleased with my performance. I practice for a little while longer, only stopping with the bell rings for lunch.

The meal is uneventful. I find myself sitting at a table full of people I don't know, and none of us talk much. That is until Barden comes to join us.

"So Briar, how was your morning?" he asks. The other tributes at the table look towards us with confusion on their faces— _probably wondering why the kid is so damn happy_ —but they don't say anything.

"It was okay, I guess," I say with a shrug as I pick at my food.

"That's good. Mine was too if you were wondering," he teases. "So I've been meaning to ask you, what was the point behind your whole bird persona. I mean, it looked good, but what did it mean?" His blatant curiosity surprises me, because I can't figure out why any of this information would matter to him, but I also can't find a reason why he shouldn't know, so I don't hesitate to tell him.

"I was supposed to be a canary. They serve as a sort of warning system in the mines to help the miners escape if there's a gas leak… and they stand for freedom and the future," I add as an afterthought.

He nods his heads at my explanation. "Makes sense." He pauses briefly before firing off his next question. "Why aren't you sitting with the other kids from your district?"

I raise my eyebrow at him. He's not sitting with anyone from his district either. With the exception of the Careers, nobody seems too strict about where they sit.

I shrug again. "Why aren't you sitting with anyone from yours?"

"No reason. Plus this seat was open."

He stops talking after that, instead opting to shovel food into his mouth at an alarming rate. I'm sure his manners, or lack there of, would make most people cringe, but I've seen a lot worse in the Seam so it doesn't bother me. Any other conversation we have is idle chatter, which ends when we're all called back into the training room.  
The afternoon, unlike the morning, passes without incident. I continue with my tour of the survival stations as my mentors suggested. I try my hand at camouflage, but quickly learn that I'm terrible at it. I also try the hammock station, though I have no idea why that would ever be useful in the Games. Despite my lack of success at the last two stations, I leave the center feeling good, finding comfort in the fact that even if I'm not skilled with any weapons, I'll at least have some survival skills to fall back on.

* * *

"So how did training go today?" Haymitch asks as we begin our private mentoring.

Over the course of dinner, both Karn and I decided that we wanted to be trained separately. Working together seemed like a bad idea for a multitude of reasons, the main two being 1) if I do turn out to be good with any weapons, I don't want him knowing, and 2) I don't like him. So when everyone had finished with their food, Haymitch and I moved to the main room, spreading out on the couch to discuss today's events and to rethink strategy if need be.

I think back to what happened in the Training Center, before pursing my lips and saying, "It was…eventful."

Haymitch lets out an exasperated sigh. "Am I going to have to force the information out of you _every time_ I ask a question?"

His statement makes me feel a little bad about my silence. I resolve to be a bit more forthcoming with him.

"I spent the entire day at survival stations like you suggested," I say. "I'm good at making snares and at identifying poisonous foods and insects. Not so much at camouflage and making hammocks." He looks at me questioningly when I mention the last one, and I just give him a look conveying my own confusion on the matter.

"Well at least you might not starve to death in the arena. That is, if they give you any animals to catch." He says the last part more to himself than to me. It's not meant to scare me, but my heart still sinks at his words.

It reminds me of the feeling I had when I first walked into the training center, seeing the competition I would have to face in the arena. This makes me think of the incident with the boy from One and Nerissa. I might not have any meals in the arena, but they could definitely make one out of me. I don't say anything to him about it though. I feel guilty about the event even though I know that I didn't do anything wrong. It probably has to do with what he said last night. For some reason, I don't want to disappoint Haymitch.

My dejection and desire to please Haymitch makes me feel a little irritated. I'm the one in danger of dying here; I shouldn't be worried about anyone but myself.

"I just did what you told me to do," I say.

He gives me a droll look. "So that's all that happened? Nothing else?"

He's acting like he knows more than he's letting on, and I wonder if someone has mentioned something to him. Maybe another mentor who got the information from his tribute?

I'm quick to cover though, saying, "Um, I met a boy from district Nine."

Haymitch's eyes widen and he smiles mockingly. "Oh, do we have another love story on our hands?"

I roll my eyes at his childish remark. "I just meant that he might be a good ally in the arena. He's seems decently strong and smart, and I figured since I don't have to kill everyone, an alliance might be worth looking into."

He's silent for a moment, a contemplative look overcoming his face before he nods. "Maybe." He pauses again. "So nothing else of note happened today? If this is going to work, you have to be upfront."

I sigh. He definitely knows.

"The boy from One was looking at me again. It made Nerissa, the girl with Finnick last night, mad. And before you ask, I have no idea why. I wasn't doing anything to draw attention to myself. I was at the fire starting station, which is like, the least popular in the entire room. But I did what you said: I smiled and walked away."

Haymitch leans back in his seat and clicks his tongue. He doesn't seem pleased with the information. "Well, kid, you've been getting a lot of attention in the Capitol." I'm about to ask him why, but he waves a hand at me, telling me to let him continue. "Whether or not you like it, it's a good story—the thing with you and the boy from Two. Not to mention the fact that you made a splash in the parade. The Careers are used to getting all of the attention, and now, for two years in a row, they've been outshined by District Twelve."

My chest tightens at his words.

"It's not fair," I say, shaking my head "I don't want their stupid spotlight."

"Oh yes you do. Whether or not you like the attention, the story is making you popular. It could bring in a lot of sponsors. So I suggest you keep doing what I say: ignore the Careers and focus on your own training, and I'll worry about the media." I blow out a breath and nod. "Good, now I want you to try out some weapons tomorrow."

I'm a bit surprised by the change in strategy, but I assume it has to do with the Careers' newfound interest in me, so I skip the part where I usually question him, and jump to being practical about it.

"Does it matter which?"

"No. Try your hand at everything." He pauses, seeming to rethink his statement. "But save the knives and the ax for a time when there aren't too many people around."

"Okay. I can do that."

The corner of Haymitch's mouth twitches up slightly, and I have to blink rapidly to process what just happened. I didn't know Haymitch knew how to give a real smile. I also don't know what I did to please him, but whatever it was, I'm glad I did it.

"Good," Haymitch says as he stands. "Now I have to go deal with the other kid." The statement comes out as an annoyed grumble, and I can't help but laugh. It looks like I'm not the only one who doesn't like Karn.

I stay in the main area for a while, deciding to turn on the TV as everyone else talks with their mentors. Much to my displeasure, but not to my surprise, everything on has to with the Games: past Games, tribute analysis, Katniss and Peeta's wedding preparations, behind the arena, and so on. It makes me angry, how much these people's lives revolve around the Games. It's sickening that they can find so much pleasure in watching children die—in turning children into killers. I suddenly deflate at the thought. When all of this is done, whether I live or die in the arena, I'm going to be a murderer. There's no getting around it. There's way too many of us for me to hide my way to the finish. And even if I could do that in the first arena, there's no way I'd get away with it twice. Chances are I wouldn't be able to convince my partner of that plan anyway. It's a sobering thought, and one that makes me feel completely and utterly hopeless.

I sit on the couch, staring at the television but not really watching it as I try to imagine what will happen once I enter the arena. Every scenario that comes to mind makes me feel sick. I distantly hear the sound of my name being called, but I'm so out of focus that I can't tell if it's from the speakers of the TV or if it's from someone in the apartment. A hand on my shoulder tells me it's the latter, and I turn to see Katniss standing behind me.

I pull myself up from my slouched position on the plush couch and shake myself from my thoughts. "Hey, Katniss. What's up?" I groan internally at how weak my voice sounds.

"Nothing, you just seemed pretty out of it," she says with a shrug.

"I was just thinking about the Games. About the Capitol."

I look towards the big window on the far side of the room, the one that looks out across the city. I remember what I had thought of the Training Center as we arrived in the Capitol for the first time, and I turn towards Katniss quickly with my next thought.

"Are we allowed on the roof?"

The question seems to catch her off guard, but she nods slowly. "Yeah. Why?"

"Can I go?"

She stands there, staring intently at me for a moment before she jerks her head towards the elevator. "Come on, I'll show you."

I smile at her gratefully and follow her to the elevator. Despite having ridden in them over the past few days, I'll still not entirely sure how they work, so I let her press the buttons. She pushes one that has a large R on it, and the elevator begins to move. The ride is silent and only lasts a couple of seconds before the doors open again.

When we step out of the elevator, I immediately feel glad for having asked Katniss to take me. The wind on the roof whips around, flowing naturally as opposed to the stale, heavy air that fills the Capitol buildings. It's not the same as home, but it instantly brings me relief. I walk over to the railing of the building, and look over the edge as Katniss comes to join me. I notice that I was right: I can see for miles from here, but I don't see the browns and greens of the lush forests of District Twelve, but rather the artificial whites and yellows of the Capitol lights. I can't hear the loud sounds of the cars or the people over the wind.

"Peeta showed me this last year, after Cinna had shown it to him," Katniss speaks from beside me.

The tiny bit of personal information she has just given surprises me: She's not an open person. I wonder if it's because the Capitol makes her feel just as lost as it makes me. I lean my elbows on the railing as I look out at the city and another silence falls over us. It doesn't feel awkward though, which is another surprise to me. I know that she understands better than most what I'm going through, having gone through the same thing a year ago. She knows that there isn't anything to say that can make it better. But still, our situations are different. She had her sister to fight for. And her mother, and Gale. The thought of getting back to them kept her alive in the arena, but I don't have any of that to go back to. Considering that my father didn't even come to say goodbye, I don't think what happens to me in the arena matters much to him. I know that Mabel wants me to come home, that she believes that I can, but it's not the same. The same goes for Mr. Fairbain. He's been the closest thing I've had to family since my mother and sister died, but I know that he'd be okay without me. They'd both be able to move on with their lives. I don't know how I'm supposed to do this—how I can justify doing what it takes to live when others will be losing something if they don't return home.

"They make it impossible for you to jump. There's a force field that goes around the whole thing. It bounces you right back if you try," she says, breaking our silence. I wonder if she could tell what I was thinking.

"How nice of them to be so concerned about us," I say bitterly.

She laughs softly. Or maybe it's loud, but I can't tell over the wind. "That's exactly what I said."

I hear her sigh next to me as we continue to stare out at the city.

"How do you do it?" I ask quietly. "How do you get through the Games? How do you justify killing these people?"

Her head snaps in my direction at my softly spoken question, and she swallows thickly, contemplating what to say. "I…" She shakes her head and takes a shuddering breath. "You…you don't justify it. You can't… But it's you or them. Someone has to come out on top." Both her eyes and tone convey how serious a statement this is, and I'm reminded that her _victory_ came with a price, just like Haymitch's did.

"And it never gets better. You either learn to live with it or you don't." She takes one more look out at the city before turning to me. "I'm going to head back. Make sure you don't stay out here too long." I nod and watch as she disappears into the elevator, leaving me alone on the rooftop.

I put my head on my hands as I think over her words. ' _It's you or them.'_ The thought makes me sick to my stomach. It's an impossible situation. I have nothing to lose, but I don't want to die. I can't justify killing these kids, but I can't justify letting myself die either. But questioning whether or not I deserve to survive doesn't feel right; it's not what Amelia or my mother would have wanted for me. And I promised Mabel and Mr. Fairbain that I would try, that I wouldn't go down without a fight. That I wouldn't let them win. And I can't. I can't just give in. I'm not this scared girl the Games have turned me into. Maybe it's selfish, but I won't let them take my life from me so easily.

"You can't jump you know. If that's what you're thinking of doing."

I whip my head around in the direction of the deep voice, coming face to face with the boy I can't seem to escape.

 _Cato_.

His arms are folded over his chest and he's sneering at me from his place a few feet away. For the first time since I saw him on the recap, I find myself feeling something other than fear. My jaw clenches at his insinuation: that I'm so scared, so afraid of him and his _friends,_ that I'd rather kill myself than have to face him. The anger builds in me rapidly, and I find myself snapping at him. "I wasn't going to jump. I'm not stupid. Or suicidal," I say harshly.

He raises an eyebrow in my direction. "Then what were you doing?"

"Why does it matter?" I bite out, already eager to be out of his presence. He's wearing normal clothes as opposed to the training outfit, and it reminds of the arrogant boy that had me terrified on Reaping day with his eagerness to play the game.

He smirks at me with cold eyes. "It doesn't. It'd just be a shame if some of the competition decided to take themselves out early. Where would the fun be in that?"

I narrow my eyes at him, a scowl pulling at my lips. Of course he's concerned about me ruining his playtime. That's the reason he volunteered: to have some fun. It's why all the Careers volunteer. They just want glory, and breaking their competition is just a welcome bonus to them. Well, I'm not here to play this game with him.

"If that's the case, then why don't you go somewhere else? It's a pretty big roof."

It's his turn to glower, and he takes a threatening step towards me. I clench my fists as I will myself to stand my ground. I guess he's not used to people talking back to him.

Unfortunately, his face quickly morphs back into a smirk, and I know I've lost any ground I had just gained. "What? No smile for me? You seemed so friendly with Mace earlier today."

 _Mace?_ I wrack my brain to fill in the missing information. There's a flash of the training room, a leer, and a glare, and I realize that he must be talking about the boy from One. I swallow dryly when I think of him and his suggestive gaze, the way he made my skin crawl with a single look. Cato notices my instant discomfort, his smirk growing wider. He's playing with me. It only makes me angrier, and I try to give him my most intimidating glare. I know it won't be very effective though. Guys like Cato practically wrote the book on how to be intimidating.

"Yeah, well, maybe I just like him better than you."

It's a childish comeback, but my anger-addled brain can't seem to think of anything else to say. In truth, I hate them both. I might even hate Mace more because while Cato is intimidating and cold, and no doubt a ruthless killer, Mace is all of those things as well, except he gets to add "repulsive creep" to his list of qualities. I don't tell Cato that of course.

"I'm hurt, Twelve," he says with a mock frown. "And here I thought we had such a special connection."

He puts emphasis on the last word, letting me know just how unhappy he is with the fact that the two of us have been lumped together since the recap. My mind immediately goes to Amelia, a deep ache forming in my chest, and I have an overwhelming urge to slap him for making this personal. I manage to resist, knowing that I'd only end up hurting myself if I tried to take him on in a physical battle.

"I have a name," I snap. "It's Briar."

"Hmmm." He looks mockingly thoughtful for a minute and then sighs as if he's just made a very difficult decision. "I think I'll stick with Twelve."

I roll my eyes at his cruel smirk. "Whatever," I say with a wave of my hand. "Have it your way, _Two_. It's not like whether or not you call me by name will matter in the arena. Either way, I won't hesitate to kill you if I get the chance." Somewhere in the back of my head I hear a voice telling me that I'm probably going to regret my sudden boldness, but it's drowned out by the frustration, so I don't listen to it.

My comment is a blatant lie. I have no idea what I would do in the arena if I had the chance to kill him. The rational part of me knows that I should kill him, but I don't know if I could. I don't know if I can kill anyone, but I try to cover my doubt with a stoic determination as I stare at the brutal boy before me.

He seems amused by my comment, his eyebrow raising and his lips twitching. It's incredibly unnerving. It almost looks like a real smile, but I don't think Cato's actually capable of that so I decide it must be a trick of the light.

He laughs harshly. It makes my skin crawl, and I decide that it's a sound I never want to hear again. "Well, I've got to admit, I'm surprised. You've actually got some backbone." It's not a compliment, and I don't take it as one. "Not that it makes a difference. Look at you. You don't stand a chance." He doesn't walk towards me again, but I'm forced to take a step back as the teasing drops from his voice and his tone suddenly becomes a low growl. "I'm going to win this thing; we both know it. Doesn't matter how much fight you have, or who you are. If I see you in the arena, I will kill you."

I shiver in response to his words, thankful that the wind is blowing so strongly that he can't hear my sharp intake of breath. Unlike me, I know he's not lying. He's trained his whole life for this, and he's more than prepared to do what it takes. Humanity means nothing to him. He's a ruthless killing-machine.

I can't think of anything to say in reply, but I'm determined not to look weak. I stand there, trying to think of something to do to show him that I'm not scared, even though I can feel the terror clawing at my insides. The only thing that comes to mind is Haymitch's words from this morning, so I tilt my face up in his direction and give him as much of a smile as I can muster under the circumstance.

He looks taken aback for a moment, and I'm momentarily pleased that I've managed to catch him off guard. But then he snarls and takes another step towards me. Whatever he planned on doing or saying never happens though, because even over the wind, we both hear the sound of a _ding._ Both of us snap our heads in the direction of the elevator as the doors slide open.

The blond boy in front of me straightens quickly; shoulders and jaw suddenly tense as he looks at who's just arrived. Cato's form is too big for me to see around, and I feel temporarily frozen, as if I've just been caught doing something I shouldn't have been. I don't move, instead opting to stare at Cato's back as the person begins to speak.

"What are you doing, Cato?"

The voice that asks the question is masculine, deep like Cato's and holding a note of reprove. The boy in question doesn't reply, but I think they must be having some type of silent conversation because he steps aside so that I'm in the line of sight of the newest visitor.

My eyes widen slightly, and I go rigid as I take in the person before me. Dark hair, muscular build, cold blue eyes. I know instantly that it's Demetrius Hadley. For a minute all I can see is his face as him and his district partner plot to kill my sister, and I suddenly feel sick. I bite down on my cheek to break myself from my thoughts. He looks me over once, but much like with Cato at the parade, I can't read the expression on his face. His eyes meet mine for a minute before he turns to his brother.

He gives him a hard look, his voice low and unnerving. "We need to talk."

Cato's eyes flit to me quickly, his expression cold. He nods once at his brother, and I take that as my way out.

"I'll just be going then," I blurt out, my feet already walking swiftly towards the elevator. I can feel both of their eyes on my retreating form, but I try my best to ignore their presence. I jab the button, eager to be anywhere but here. The car arrives quickly and I step inside, not looking back in the direction of Cato and his brother as the doors slide shut, and I begin my descent.

I lean heavily against the wall as the elevator takes me back to my floor, my heart pounding and my head reeling from my conversation with Cato. He's going to kill me if he gets the chance. He may even target me specifically. It should be terrifying, and on some level it is, but I can't help but feel something else at his words. I know that I must be losing it because for some reason that actually makes me feel better. Relief, that's what I feel. I bark out a short laugh. I'm actually relieved that Cato, the biggest threat in the entire Games, said he would kill me. Unlike the people in the Capitol, he doesn't care about whatever "connection" we may have, just like I don't. We're both here to win, and that's the end of it.

Unfortunately though, my brain also recognizes that my actions on the roof were reckless. I'm supposed be staying out of the Careers' way, not drawing attention to myself, and I go and get into a less than pleasant conversation with the boy— _killer_ —who will most likely be the head of their pack in the first arena. I berate myself as I think about my hostility and my possibly empty threat. I have no doubt that I've just made things worse for myself. I'm as good as dead in the arena.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Another chapter down and Cato has finally spoken. Ahhh, hope you guys liked it. I think I'll be updating every Friday, so keep an eye out!**

 **SlyviaHunterOfArtemis: Thanks for the review. Glad you liked it!**

 **WhiteEeve: And the typos strike again... Thanks for pointing it out (: The idea for Cinna took me a while to come up with, and I was a little afraid to use another bird, but I got kind of attached so that's that lol.**

 **Thanks again for reading. Please continue to review and let me know what you like/dislike!**


	7. Chapter 6: Pick Your Poison

**Chapter 6: Pick Your Poison**

I breathe in deeply and slowly exhale as I visualize the _thunk_ of my shot hitting the target. I open my eyes as I raise my arms with perfect control. The bow feels lighter than I imagined, and I carefully pull back the string as I take aim. My eyes are trained on the red and black rings, and I block out all other sound as I prepare myself for the shot. Taking one more deep breath, I fire.

I jerk sharply and drop the bow with a hiss. My upper arm burns from a small red nick just above my arm protector, and a tiny drop of blood threatens to bead out of it. I glare down at the offending weapon. The overextended sting of the bow lies limply on the ground. My glare deepens when I spot the arrow, lying no more than three feet ahead of me, nowhere near the target.

Someone snickers behind me, and I whirl around to find the a small boy from Ten. He's got a stupid smirk on his rat-like face. I scowl at him. He doesn't even look old enough to be here. I huff, shove the bow back onto the weapons rack, and storm away to another station.

I pause on my way to the trident station, taking a quick look over at the gauntlets when I hear the sound of clapping. When we arrived this morning, Atala had informed us that she would be calling us up in groups to test us on the obstacle course. It's a formidable task, one Haymitch suggested we avoid if possible because of how frequently the Careers use it. It's an extremely physical task, and one that can easily make you look weak if you're not careful.

The gauntlet section of the course consists of different level platforms that rise to a landing on both sides. We're expected to leap around from level to level while avoiding the padded clubs that the trainers use to knock us off balance. From there, we're supposed to move on to the ropes course, which mainly consists of a series of nets stretched across a portion of the ceiling. The game makers will take our times into consideration for our final training scores, so it's important to perform well.

My pulse quickens slightly as I watch the first group test out the course. They're all tributes from One and Two, and everyone in the room is paying close attention to them. I can still hear the sound of weapons and the hushed voices of the other tributes, but every time one of the Careers steps up to the starting line, the room gets eerily quiet.

They make the course look like a joke as they jump from block to block, expertly avoiding the attendants' batons, and taking no more than a few hits. They all get through the ropes section just as easily thanks to their strength. All of them are decently fast, which comes as a surprise, considering all of the boys are large. A bitter taste fills my mouth at the thought. Large _and_ fast. Not a cheering combination for us other tributes.

I turn away and walk to the trident station. There's only one other kid here; one of the twelve year olds from Eight that I recognize from the Reaping. None of his attempts are very successful, so I'm confident that he won't laugh at me like the boy from Ten. I can't be much worse with this as I am with the bow.

The trainer comes over to me, giving me a few pointers on form before leaving me to it. I select one of the shorter tridents, inspecting it as I remove it from the rack. The metal is smooth and cool to the touch, but it feels heavy and unbalanced in my hand as I lift it and test out my stance.

I eye the dummy ahead of me. It's only about fifteen feet away, but after my last venture with a new weapon, I try not to underestimate the distance. I let out a long sigh. _Please be better than the bow._ I release the trident, throwing it with as much force as I can muster.

 _Clank_.

I groan in frustration as I walk towards the dummy that now has my trident sticking up out of its foot. The prongs are embedded deeply into the soft rubber, going all the way through the false flesh, which is something, I guess. I shake my head. _Not when you were aiming for the stomach._

I yank the weapon from its position, and trudge back towards the throwing mark. A pit of worry forms deep in my stomach as I spot two people standing in the place I had just occupied. The volume in the room has picked up again, but all I can hear is a blur of sound as I make eye contact with Mace and Nerissa.

 _There are forty-seven other tributes in here. How do these people keep finding me, and_ _why can't they just leave me alone?_

"Well, wasn't that just pathetic?" Nerissa says.

Her face is pulled into a condescending smirk, and I can tell she's imagining all the different ways she'd like to kill me, all very creative, and most likely extremely painful. Considering she's from District Four, she probably knows just how terrible that shot really was, and how easy of a target I'd be.

Mace chuckles at the girl's comment and smirks at me, and I glower at the two of them. I'm tired of being pushed around. Sorry, Haymitch.

"At least you actually managed to hit the dummy this time,"Mace says. "That attempt with the bow was just sad. Not exactly the next Girl on Fire, are you?"

His tone is teasing, but there's a dangerous glint in his eyes that tells me I need to stay away from him. I don't know how he even saw me; his group was supposed to be over at the obstacle course. But the knowledge that he should be somewhere else makes me feel even more uneasy about his presence.

"I could help you, if you want," he drawls out, taking a step towards me.

The leer is back as he invades my personal space, bending his head towards mine so that I can feel his warm breath on my cheek. Its disgusting, and my whole body goes rigid as I fight the urge to stab him with the trident. I'd definitely be able to hit the stomach from this distance.

"I don't need your help."

He laughs. "Really? Because I'm pretty sure you just hit the dummy's foot. Not exactly an expert shot."

"Maybe that's what I was aiming for. I'd like to see you try to run away with a trident sticking out of your foot," I say harshly.

Nerissa narrows her eyes behind Mace, but he just smirks wider. "Oh, feisty. I prefer the spirited type. It's always more fun when they're a challenge."

I swallow heavily as he breathes across my face once more. I forgo the smile completely, taking a step back and shooting him a dirty look.

"Mace. Nerissa," a familiar, authoritative voice barks from somewhere to my left.

I turn my head to see Cato and the other Careers glaring in our direction, clearly not pleased with the unfolding scene. I've never been more thankful to hear Cato's voice, but the feeling quickly vanishes when I realize that our conversation has drawn a few eyes. I can see the boy from Eight watching us intently out of the corner of my eye. I suddenly feel very small, shifting from foot to foot, but I try to hold my ground. The two teens give me one last look before sauntering off to join the rest of their group.

I release the breath I was holding as I watch them walk away. Cato sends me one more glare, his eyes reiterating what he told me on the roof last night, before he turns it on the other tributes in the Training Center. Everyone seems to recoil under his dark look, immediately jumping back to whatever they had been doing. It's amazing how terrified everyone is of him.

Feeling slightly flustered, I decide to go the knot tying station. I don't trust myself to handle any weapons right now. I mentally scold myself for my weakness. I have to get used to being uncomfortable. If something happens in the arena, I'm not going to be able to stop and calm myself down. I sigh, hunkering down at the station and waiting for my district to be called to the obstacle course.

After half an hour, Atala calls my name, summoning me over to join the rest of the tributes from my district as well as those of District Eleven. We're all silent as we listen to her go over the rules of the course, and I can already feel my heart pounding heavily in my chest. This is my first real test here. My exploration of the weapons hasn't yielded positive results, and I doubt I'm going to impress them with my ability to light a fire or identify a poisonous bug. Making an impression in the tribute parade is one thing, but it won't mean much if I completely botch my training score.

District Eleven goes first, and I cringe as I watch them struggle through the gauntlet section of the course. They all move incredibly slow, even though they make the leaps with relative ease. It reminds me of the little girl from Eleven last year.

 _They're probably used to it from back home where they work in the trees._

I attribute their slow speed to the fact that they're constantly getting hit by the batons, and they have to regain their balance before setting off again. They all do well with the ropes leg though, swinging easily from section to section without falling.

Collis is the first from my district to go. He does better than I expect in both sections, but he takes a lot of hits and his time isn't fast. Thalia moves more quickly than Collis had, but I frown at the repeated _thwack_ I hear. I don't think she avoided a single baton, but at least she didn't fall off of anything. And she's not crying, which is an improvement. Karn is next, and I roll my eyes as he smirks and struts his way to the starting line.

By the time he finishes, the smirk has been wiped from his face and placed on mine. He only took four hits, but his time was slow, placing him near the lower half of the tributes.

The smirk quickly vanishes from my own face when I realize that it's my turn. I slowly make my way to the starting line. The sound in the room is drowned out as I focus on the course before me, waiting for my cue to start.

"GO!"

I take off at a sprint, lunging and jumping up when I reach the first platform. The different levels are farther apart than they looked from the ground, but I still make the first jump easily as I throw my momentum into it. The next few are more difficult, and it takes almost all my effort as I bend my knees and push off the ground, leaping to the next block. I'm about the make my next move when I suddenly feel something slam into my side, nearly causing me to lose my balance. I distantly hear the sound of laughter, and I wince at the pain of my first hit. Fortunately, it doesn't slow me down much.

My leg muscles are working in overdrive as I throw myself from platform to platform. Another baton comes flying at me, but this time I'm able to sidestep it before it can make contact. My breathing sounds heavy to my ears as I finally hit the landing, ducking and rolling as I narrowly avoid two more batons. Once I'm back on my feet, I take off into another sprint, trying to avoid the clubs as best as I can. I'm close to the descending platforms when I take another hit. Hissing at the sharp jolt of pain, I bound my way down the final section of levels.

My legs are starting to burn when I'm back on the ground, but I don't slow down as I make my way to the netting. Grabbing onto the thick black rope, I stick my feet through the loops and begin my assent. The netting jerks sharply under me, and I tighten my grip, feeling a small twinge in my hand. I'm forced to slow my pace a little after that, not wanting to risk flipping the net. My arms strain as I heave myself over the top, crouching down into a bear crawl as I scurry across the flat section of the ropes. I momentarily lose my balance again as I reach the end of the top level, my foot caught in one of the loops. Gripping the rope tightly with my hands, I jerk roughly, freeing my foot and nearly toppling over the final section. I hold on as tightly as I can while my feet scramble for purchase. They find it after a few short seconds, and I move down the rope as quickly as possible.

I hear Atala yell, "Done" when my feet hit the ground, and I let out a sigh of relief. My arms and legs feel like jelly as the adrenaline begins to wear off, and I wince when I feel throbbing in my side and a twinge of pain in my hand. I'm definitely going to be bruised tomorrow. I look down at my palm where the skin has peeled away, the old burn irritated by the coarse material of the ropes. The pain is nothing serious though, and I'm thankful to have made it out with only minor issues.

"Well done, tribute Briar," Atala tells me as I make my way back to her.

My heart is still beating quickly, but I manage to give her a small thank you in between breaths before turning to the board with our times. My eyes widen. My name lies just below Topaz's and just above Valora's, one of the girls from District Two⎯the one who not ten seconds ago had been second on the list.

I got the second highest score.

 _I got the second highest score._ If I had been hit one less time, I would have been first.

I'm hit by a confusion of feelings as the information sinks in. Pride, for being better than the Careers at something, for proving to them that I'm not as weak as they seem to think. Disbelief, for the very same reason. And terror. I've just painted an even bigger target on my back. The only consolation is that this will help my training score. If I have enough sponsors in the arena, I still might be able to survive.

The other tributes around me seem to be feeling as much disbelief as I am because they keep looking between the board and me. More than one of them are glaring at me, and it makes me feel both uncomfortable and irritated. Karn's look is by far the worst, and I'm about to tell him to cut it out when his gaze shifts to something behind me. I look over my shoulder. I immediately regret it.

All the Careers are staring me down from their spots around the area, and I internally grumble about how common an occurrence this is becoming. I assumed they had been watching my run on the course, and they were very likely the ones that laughed when I received my first hit and almost fell. Unlike the other tributes, they seem to fully comprehend what just happened, and judging by their faces, they aren't happy about it at all. My pulse beats heavily in my ears as I force myself to turn away from them.

Thankfully, the lunch bell rings at that moment, saving me from another possible confrontation. I practically run out the door.

The smell of savory food hits my nose as soon as I enter the room, and I hear my stomach growl in anticipation. Thanks to the speed with which I fled to the cafeteria, I'm the first in line, and I eagerly stack food onto my plate. I hear footsteps sound behind me as the other tributes make their way into the lunchroom.

"Hey! Briar!"

I stop where I am in line, turning to face the lanky teen trying to get my attention. Barden is wearing the same goofy smile I've begun to associate with him as he makes his way towards me with a girl I haven't met but recognize from the Reaping. I've seen her around the Training Center, but we've never crossed paths. She looks older than I do, but she's shorter by a couple of inches. Her brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail, clearly displaying the white Six on the shoulder of her shirt.

"Hey, Barden. What's up?"

 **"** I was trying to get your attention, but you ran out of the Center pretty fast," he says as he glances to the girl next to him. I raise my eyebrow at him as he flicks his gaze between the girl and me. A light seems to switch on in his brain because he jerks his head back to me and points to the small girl. "Oh, by the way, this is Zeppina. She's from Six."

Zeppina gives me a tight-lipped smile and a small wave. "Hi."

"Hey."

An awkward silence falls over us, and the two behind me begin to fill their plates with food as well. The only thing that fills the quiet for the next few seconds is the sound of metal clanking against metal and the hushed whispers of people talking as they scoop their lunch out of the containers.

Barden finishes loading his plate and turns to me. "Why don't you come sit with us?"

I'm not exactly eager to converse with my fellow tributes, but being alone means I'm probably more susceptible to being engaged by the Careers. So I nod my head at him, and the three of us weave our way through the tables, stopping once we reach one in the far left corner of the room. As I take my seat, I notice that some others have come to join us, but I don't recognize any of them. Barden seems to notice my confusion because he jumps to introduce them.

"Briar, this is Mazzie from Nine, Nox from Ten, and Fuse from Three."

Of course he knows who everyone is. The kid is too friendly for his own good. I don't understand it. How can he be so happy knowing that in less than two days, he's going to be put in an arena to battle for his life? It doesn't make any sense, and I hope he doesn't regret it when the real Games start.

I give them a curt nod in acknowledgment, and we begin what I can only describe as possibly the most awkward conversation I've ever had. No one really knows what to say. We can't really talk about our districts because it's clear that it would be too painful for all of us, but we also can't talk about the Games, because it's just depressing. So Barden ends up controlling most of the conversation, which is fine by me.

He is in the middle of telling a very animated story about his escort when Zeppina suddenly cuts him off, a look of confusion marring her features. "The Careers keep looking over here."

My back is to the rest of the room, so I can't confirm what she's saying, but by the look on both Nox and Mazzie's faces, I can tell that she's not lying. Yesterday, all twelve Careers had sat at a table in the center of the room, showing everyone that they had already formed their alliance for the first arena. I assume they're doing the same today, but I don't bother turning around to check. If they really are looking over here, I know I'll just be met with more of the same glares.

Barden shrugs like it's no big deal. "They're probably just angry that Briar got a faster time than most of them on the obstacle course. How did you do that, anyway?"

"I don't know," I say with a shake of my head and a frown.

"Well, yeah, but like, how did you get so good? I mean… you're pretty tiny. No offense."

"Oh, um, I used to run a lot when I was little. My mom was a seamstress, and I used to deliver her orders. And I work" ⎯ _Worked?_ ⎯ _"_ with a butcher back in Twelve. And I ran at school." I almost want to tell them that it was a fluke, but I decide that it's better to make myself seem like somewhat of a threat.

I make it sound simple when I explain it to the others, but a part of me doesn't really understand it myself. Everything I said to them about my mother and working with Mr. Fairbain is true, but I'm still surprised by how well I did. Running orders across town is a lot different than the gauntlets. I've always been fast. I used to run a lot of the races at school, and I usually won, but I didn't think that would translate well in the Games. Though, the throbbing on my side reminds me that I could have done better. If those were real weapons, I'd have two gaping wounds in my side. The thought makes me feel sick.

"Or the staring could have to do with your sister? It was on the recap, and Caesar talks about it all the time."

I drop my fork with a loud _clang_ as the metal hits my plate, and I snap my head up to look at the boy across from me. Fuse looks at me unapologetically, as if he knew exactly what bringing up Amelia would do. The table is silent as they wait for my answer, but it never comes. I shove my food away from me and stand up, walking quickly out of the room. I hear Barden call my name, but I don't acknowledge it. I'm thankful that he doesn't follow me as I walk back to the Training Center.

I know I'm overreacting, but I can't stand everyone talking about her all the time. A fissure forms in my chest as I look down at the leather bracelet on my wrist. Being in the Games is stressful enough as it is, but the ache just gets worse every time someone mentions her. I know the kid did it on purpose too. _Probably trying to throw me off my game._ Ha. Like I actually have any.

I want to scream. This is supposed to be in the past; it happened six years ago. I'm not the first person to lose a sibling to the Games, and I doubt I'm the first person to enter the Games after losing one. But because Cato's brother turned out to be the victor, because Cato is here too, nobody can shut up about it.

I let out a disgruntled sigh as I enter the Training Center. All the other tributes are still at lunch and it's completely silent in the large room. I'm grateful for the quiet and the space. I need some time to blow off steam. Since the room is empty, I figure this is as good a time as any to try my hand at the knife station.

The rack is full of different style knives: daggers, knives with curves, knives that you throw from the blade, knives that you throw from the handle, and so on, but all of them are different than what I'm used to.

I pick up the first one on the rack, figuring I might as well try all of them. It's called a kukri knife, and its blade is a strange curve that forms a crescent with the handle. I walk over to the throwing mark, testing the weight of the knife as I go. It feels lopsided in my hand. It doesn't make much of a difference though. While I'm used to handling knives, I have no experience throwing them. They'll probably all feel unbalanced, especially since I have to chuck them across the room rather than use them to cut through the meat of a dead animal.

Looking down at the knife one more time, I adjust my grip on the handle. Focusing on the motion of my arm and then my target, I place my left foot in front of my right and throw. The knife sails through the air, embedding itself in the knee of the dummy. It's an improvement on the bow and the trident, but not by much. I'm used to lighter knives, the heaviness of the kukri making my grip awkward and my release stunted, so I leave the knife in dummy, and pull different ones from the rack to test those instead.

By the time I'm done, there are about fifteen knives sticking out of the dummy in different places. I used nearly every knife from the rack, each with varying degrees of success as I threw them at the dummy, picturing the faces of the Careers. As I had predicted, I'm much better with the lighter knives, which is why after the first ten throws, I stuck with one called a bowie knife. Its clipped point is reminiscent of a butcher's knife, as is the weight, and I could throw it with more ease than the others. I'm not an expert shot by any means, but I at least managed to hit between the thighs and the shoulders on every throw, even if it rarely goes where I intended. If it's not enough to kill, it will at least slow my target down.

Satisfied with my progress and feeling calmer, I move away from the station as the other tributes begin to filter back into the room, having just finished with lunch. I decide to follow Haymitch's instructions, making sure that none of the other tributes know what I'm good at. I cringe when I think of my mentor; he's not going to like the Careers' ever-increasing "interest" in me. The least I can do is follow the rest of his advice. I look back at the dummy I had just worked on and snicker. It looks like I decided to use it as a pincushion. Everyone will think I've gone crazy or something.

The afternoon session is spent much like the morning⎯with me trying out various weapons and completely failing. Barden and Zeppina join me shortly after they return, and we head over to a station that's filled with the most random selection of weapons I have ever seen. Turns out that Barden is quite skilled with a sickle. It also turns out that I am not. Zeppina is surprisingly adept at a lot of things, picking the weapons up at an unusual pace. It's a skill I definitely don't have, and it surprises me considering she's from Six, and they supposedly have no experience working with weapons. I attempt to work the throwing ax, but it's a definite no-go, considering my only successful attempt ended in me hitting the hand of the dummy. The ones I don't have to throw go over a little better. If it came down to it, I think I could make it work. My ability with the spears is pretty much the same as with the trident, except I at least managed to hit the bicep with that one. I don't even bother going near the swords. The mere thought of running into Cato makes my stomach turn.

By end of the session, I'm completely exhausted both mentally and physically, and I can't wait to get away from the other tributes.

* * *

The dessert is creamy and delicious. It's the richest thing I've eaten over my time in the Capitol, the chocolate thick and divine on my tongue, and I try to savor the taste. Unfortunately, the thickness of the pastry is not conducive for being taken by surprise, and I nearly choke when Effie asks her next question.

"So how was everyone's day in the Training Center today?"

My district partners all turn their heads to me, and I shrink back in my seat, dreading the upcoming conversation. Since returning from the Training Center, I've managed to avoid discussing the new development in my never-ending saga with the Careers. I've kept my mouth shut for most of dinner, letting Haymitch and Effie take control of the conversation and only speaking when directly addressed. Despite knowing it's a futile effort, I try to put off the story as long as possible.

"I tried out different weapons, like Haymitch suggested," I say.

"Oh, did you try the bow and arrow?" Effie asks, smiling over at Katniss.

I snort. "Yeah… Let's just say that I was better at hitting myself than the target." Peeta and Katniss both raise their eyebrows in my direction, but I just shrug at them.

I give them a brief explanation of all my other attempts at weapons use, but I don't mention the knives or the ax, remembering what Haymitch said about not revealing all of my strengths. I wouldn't go as far as to call it a strength, but it's better than nothing, and could very well be my only defense in the arena. The others do the same, explaining the different sections they worked at today. Turns out that Thalia is pretty good with a slingshot. It's not the most deadly of weapons, but I make a mental note to remember it just in case. Of course, our brief accounts of today's events can't be completed without mentioning the gauntlets.

"We got tested on an obstacle course," Collis says to our mentors. "They timed us. Said it would go to our overall training score."

Peeta raises his eyebrows as he looks over to his fiancée. "Well that's new. Katniss and I didn't have to do that last year."

Effie smiles delightedly. "Oh, they have made some wonderful changes this year. So how did everyone do?"

I avert my eyes quickly, but Haymitch seems to notice my desire to remain inconspicuous.

"What happened?" He sends me a hard look, and my face contorts into a grimace at his already reprimanding tone.

Thalia pipes up from beside me. "Briar did really well. She got the second best time out of everyone."

The three mentors and our escort stare at me for minute before I'm met with a variety of reactions. Peeta smiles, seeming happy with my result, while Katniss lets out a small sigh, and a frustrated look comes over Haymitch's face.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Effie says at the same time my mentor practically growls out, "What were you thinking?"

 _Yup, he's definitely mad._

I scrub a hand over my face and sigh, but Effie doesn't seem to understand why not everyone at the table is congratulating me on my effort.

"And what, Haymitch, is wrong with her performing well? She should be ecstatic. She is one of the best."

Effie sends me a smile from her seat across the table, but the best I can give in return is a pained grimace, because I know exactly what is wrong with what I did. Still though, I can't help but feel a little frustrated over Haymitch's negative reaction, even if I saw it coming. He's so hot and cold on the matter. First he's telling me that I want their spotlight, and now he's mad at me for not being more invisible.

"I thought I told you not to draw attention to yourself. Are you trying to make them go after you?"

I narrow my eyes. "Of course I'm not. I was just trying to make sure that I get a good training score. It's not my fault their egos get bruised so easily."

"What did they do after?" Peeta asks quickly, trying to defuse the situation. I want to slam my head on the table, because his question is only going to make things worse.

"They watched her the rest of the afternoon. Two of them approached her before she even ran the course," Karn says, seeming to decide that he wants to be a part of the conversation.

I frown as he relays the information to the table. His voice sounds almost jealous, like I should be happy with their interest. I shake my head. He can have the attention if he wants it so bad.

Haymitch stares at me expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

"Mace and Nerissa came over to me at the trident station. They were…" I shake my head exasperatedly. "I don't know. They were being Careers. They were just trying to intimidate me. And it's not like I expected to do that well on the course. I was honestly just trying not to fall off the thing."

Katniss shakes her head. "Now they'll look at you like an even bigger threat than before."

"She's right, kid. Before you were a problem because you could draw sponsors. Now they think you might actually be a problem in the arena."

"Why? Because I can run away faster than they expected? They won't be able to kill me as easily while I run for my life?" My voice sounds a touch hysterical to my ears, and I can feel the heat rising to my cheeks. I inwardly cringe at how worked up I'm getting. "They all saw how terrible I was with the weapons. I'm not a real threat to them."

I regret the words as soon as they leave my mouth, because I've just revealed to more of my competition that I'm an easy target. Karn stares at me with a calculating look, and I try my best not to flinch.

"There isn't anything we can do about it now, kid." Haymitch's voice sounds softer than before, like he feels bad for his harshness. I'm relieved that he doesn't seem as angry. I still don't want to disappoint him, even if he is frustrating.

"Since you can't seem to find a way _not_ to make a spectacle of yourself, we'll just have to find a way to work with it."

I slump in my seat as a tense silence fills the room, nobody quite knowing what to say to my outburst or to Haymitch's words. The air feels heavy and I want nothing more than to flee the table, but I know I can't. There isn't any room to act childishly in the Games.

Thankfully, dinner ends soon after that. I'm about to make a break for my room when Haymitch calls me over, Effie standing at his side.

"How bad was it today?"

I don't know if he's asking about the Careers or the weapons, but I don't want to talk about the former, so I decide to go with the second option.

"I was pretty terrible at everything," I admit with a frown. "Everything felt too clunky, except for the knives. I'm decent with the lighter ones… and the ax, I guess. Well, the one I don't have to throw."

What I really mean is that I can at least hit the body consistently with them, not that I actually have an real skill with the weapon, but I know that there's no point in mentioning it because there's not enough time for either of us to do anything about it.

"And the Careers?"

I sigh at him and shake my head. "It's just more of the same stuff, Haymitch. They just stand there and glare, but it's not like I'm the only person they try to intimidate. Besides, I'm not being modest when I say I'm going to need that course time to boost my training score. When I don't score well, they'll forget about me. I'm not a threat."

He grunts, only seeming to half believe my words, before he speaks. "You aren't going to get away with flying under the radar here. Your sister did, and then she made it to the top five. They expect the same, and they'll be after you to prevent it. Underestimation can be deadly. They won't make the same mistake this time around," Haymitch tells me before taking a swig from his glass.

My chest tightens painfully at the mention of Amelia. I wasn't even sure that he remembered her. He looks lost in thought for a moment, and for the first time, I wonder if this is hard for him too. If he's haunted by how close she came. It makes me feel guilty for not being more understanding earlier.

Haymitch takes another swig and then his face clears. "Well now that everyone already knows who you are, we might as well start preparing you for the interview." I send him a questioning look, and he rolls his eyes. "We're going to have to work out your angle."

I nod. That's not so bad.

"Effie here will take care of that."

My eyes widen as Effie beams beside him, over the moon about finally being included in something. I can't tell if this is punishment for making his job more difficult, or a legitimate part of the process. Effie has her good moments and I don't doubt her desire for us to do well, but her Capitol enthusiasm grates on my nerves. Haymitch seems to know exactly what kind of effect Effie has on me, because he gives me a smirk, and tells me that he's already filled her in on everything, before he vanishes from the room to do whatever it is he does. _Bastard_.

"We are going to make you into a star," Effie tells me with a bright smile. "Everyone is going to love you."

I don't know how Effie and Haymitch plan on doing this. I don't look brutal, I don't have the beauty of some of the other girls, I have no special skills to speak of… The only thing I have going for me is that the Capitol people already know who I am thanks to Caesar, but I don't know how that's supposed to help me.

"Well, you probably know who Caesar is, you saw him on TV. Everyone knows who Caesar is," Effie says as she pulls me down onto the couch with her. "Now, much like the Tribute Parade, the interview is of the utmost importance. It is the only time that you get to interact directly with the people of the Capitol. However, it will be more difficult this year because of the changes of the Quarter Quell. Every tribute will only get two minutes rather than the usual three. Now, I've already been talking you up to sponsors, and they are all very eager to see you. You just have to show them your best self."

The way Effie relays the information comes as a surprise to me. The excitement remains in her voice, but she is knowledgeable and sure in every word she says. She actually sounds like a professional, rather than the overbearing motherly figure she had been up to this point. I come to the realization that Effie is actually good at her job. Maybe it's not a punishment after all. It could be what I need to win this thing.

"As I'm sure you already know, you've been given quite a few spotlights already. The best course of action is to run with it. Really let the people get to know you and your story."

I clench my jaw, and my face flushes at her suggestion. She can't be serious. She wants— Her and Haymitch want me to play up the story, tell the people of the Capitol all about how hard this is for me? It's disgusting, and my chest tightens as I look at Amelia's bracelet. To go on national television and use her death as a way to promote myself is an insult to her memory. I don't let Effie finish her next sentence.

"I won't do it."

She looks at me, surprised by the anger in my voice. "But it is your best option, and Haymitch⎯"

"I don't care what Haymitch said. I'm not going to sit there, and talk about my sister like she's some prop I can use to win this."

Effie opens and closes her mouth a few times, trying to figure out how to respond. She eventually finds the words she's looking for, accompanying them with a look of sympathy. "Well, if you're sure, we can perhaps find a different angle for you, though I haven't discussed any with Haymitch." Effie looks thoughtful for a moment, before she smiles at me. "No matter, I'm sure we'll find something."

She may have a smile on her face, but I can tell by her voice that she's not so sure about it. Much to my displeasure, I can feel the doubt creeping up in me as well. Amelia, Demetrius, Cato⎯that's the story people know me for, and the only reason they've taken any interest in me at all. Both Effie and Haymitch have been very clear about how popular my story has made me in the Capitol. Without it, I'd have no hope in these Games. And I've promised myself that I would do what it takes to survive. But can I really justify doing this? I know what I thought on the roof last night was right: that Amelia would want me to fight. I know she'd tell me to do it, but it still doesn't sit right with me. The thought makes me feel hollow. Everything about this is wrong, but what choice do I have?

"Maybe we could try—"

Sighing, I look up at my escort. "Effie, wait." She looks a little put out, upset at having been interrupted again, but I know that what's about to come out of my mouth will cheer her up. I take a deep breath, speaking softly. "We can… We can do the first one…the _pity_ thing."

I have to force the words out as they get stuck in my throat, but Effie doesn't seem to mind. She gives me a bright smile, patting me lightly on the arm.

"Excellent! Thank you, dear. Everyone in the Capitol will appreciate your strength. I know that it's hard for you, but just know that everyone in the Capitol will be suffering right along with you. Amanda was dear to all our hearts."

She says the last sentence with such feeling and sincerity that I can't bring myself to be offended or point out that her name was Amelia. It was a long time ago, and they go through tributes so quickly that I don't expect any of them to really remember it, anyway. Well, except for Haymitch, I guess. And Caesar, apparently.

"Now that that's sorted out, we need to prepare you for what types of questions you will face. Caesar often asks the tributes about their life in their home district, their Reaping, their views on the Capitol, and their training score. We obviously don't know your score yet as the private session is tomorrow afternoon, but I'm sure it will be nothing we have to worry about."

I can tell that she truly believes what she is saying, and Effie's faith in me takes me both off guard and sparks something inside of me. I'm sure she's had this exact conversation with so many other tributes—children that never returned home⎯so for her to believe that I can do this in spite of that, makes me think that maybe I actually can.

We spend the rest of the night with her firing different questions at me while I try to answer with as much honesty and personality as I can. Despite my discomfort with talking about Amelia, it actually goes rather smoothly. Unfortunately, that can't be said for the next part.

Following the questions, Effie had me practice walking in heels. To say I was clumsy would be an understatement, and I can't help but think they'd make a better weapon than shoe. I could probably win if I had them in the arena. Effie seems to agree that maybe the heels aren't for me, but she says that she'll help me practice in them another time.

Overall, I'm happy with how the night turned out. I finally feel prepared for something. It's a welcome reprieve from my constant anxiety regarding everything in the Games. I'm still worried about what might happen in the arena, but for the first night since I was reaped, I actually manage to get some sleep.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Another one down. Hope you guys liked it. We just have one more chapter and then Briar is off to the arena.**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Yeah, Briar and Katniss do have some similarities, largely from similar life experience. Hopefully as the story goes one you'll be able to clearly see some of the differences, especially with how they act in the arena. That scene with Cato was one the first things I ever wrote, before I even decided to make this a full story, so I was really excited to put it out there.**

 **WhiteEeve: AHHHH don't know how I missed your review the first time around :( It was a tough decision on how to write Katniss and Peeta, but in the end, I decided to play it the way they were in the books before Katniss had Snow's assurance that they failed. Really glad you're enjoying. He's such a pleasure to write.**

 **Thanks again for reading, guys. Please, please, please review. As I said, this is really my first attempt at writing, so any type of comment is helpful (if you like the writing style, if you don't, character development, description, blah blah blah). Really, I appreciate any feedback. Till next Friday!**


	8. Chapter 7: When Tomorrow Comes

**Chapter 7: When Tomorrow Comes**

Today is the final day of training, and to say I'm a nervous wreck would be an understatement. My night was mostly nightmare free, but I awake early again, only getting about six hours of blissful unconsciousness. Considering how hard sleep has been to come by since entering the Capitol, I'm thankful for what little I manage to get. The sun already illuminates the artificial Capitol sky, though by the looks of it, it couldn't have risen more than a few minutes ago. I don't bother trying to go back to sleep, instead choosing to get ready for the day early.

Peeta is the only one in the main room when I enter. He's sitting alone at the breakfast table, and I make my way over, taking a seat opposite of him. We bid each other good morning before we begin eating a quiet breakfast. The silence in the room is for once a comfortable one. Neither of us feels the need to fill the space with conversation. When we do talk, it's about the most menial of things. He doesn't force me to talk about home or the Games.

I'm incredibly grateful to know someone like Peeta. His presence alone has a way of reassuring me. It's a little strange to find myself this comfortable around someone that I barely know. I can't help but think of how ironic it is. I consider Peeta a friend, the second real one I've ever had, and we're only here because we were both chosen to die.

The TV is on at the far end of the room, and when a special airs about the engagement, he gets a sullen look on his face. Caesar's voice booms, asking questions about wedding venues, and Peeta just pushes the eggs around his plate with unfocused eyes. I don't broach the subject, but once again, I find myself wondering what's really going on between them. I haven't had much time to worry about anything other than Games, but I can tell that something is up. Whatever it is, the best I can do is hope is that it works out for them. I don't have the benefit of worrying about other people's problems right now.

Around 8:30, the rest of my team joins us. Everyone seems nervous, even the mentors. I'm reminded that this is Katniss and Peeta's first year in this position. At the least, in a few weeks time, three of their tributes will be dead. It seems almost as bad as having to go into the arena yourself.

"Alright, let's go over today's plan," Haymitch says as he walks into the main room. "The morning session will go just like every other day, but after lunch you'll have your private session with the Gamemakers. So if there was ever a time to stand out, it's now, kids. Make sure you show them a wide range of skills. Versatility is a good thing to have in the arena."

I give him a nod, trying to look confident. I don't think I'm very successful though. I've barely touched my food, and I'm jittery. I have no idea what I'm going to show the Gamemakers. They already have my time from the obstacle course, but now I have to show them actual skills. Something tells me they're not going to be impressed with my ability to start a fire. Haymitch is right. I can't just show them one thing. I'm not good enough with knives to get by on that alone, and survival skills are always weighted lower than weapons. I just hope I'm decent enough at both to get a score that's not lower than a five. If I score that low, I won't have any sponsors. I'll have to rely on myself in the arena. Unless…

"Hey, Haymitch."

My mentor looks up at me with a mouthful of pancake.

"I wanted to talk to you about an alliance."

He swallows and gives me a serious look. "I don't know if that's such a good idea, kid. Alliances are tenuous, at best."

I narrow my eyes slightly at him. "I know how they are Haymitch," I say surlily and

louder than I intended.

Everyone at the table stops what they're doing, and the silence that falls over us is

charged. The grip on my fork has tightened so much that my knuckles are almost white as I glare at my mentor. I can see what's going through his head: Amelia and Demetrius, and I tighten my grip even more. Of course I know how uneasy alliances can be. I've just spent the better part of the last week being painfully reminded of my sister.

He sighs and his expression softens. "What makes you want one?"

"Twenty-four of us get to leave the first arena. I don't have to be against everyone. I have a better chance of making it out if I have someone to work with."

Haymitch leans back in his seat, staring intently at my face. I think he's trying to decipher something, but I don't know what. Whatever it is, he seems to find what he's looking for. "Who did you have in mind?"

"The boy from Nine, Barden. And one of the girls from Six, Zeppina."

"Why?"

I glance around at the others sitting at the table. I don't want any of them to overhear what I'm saying just in case either of them had planned on keeping their skills a secret in the arena. Neither of them had seemed too worried about it in the gymnasium yesterday, and everyone at the table has moved back into their own conversation, but I speak quietly just in case.

"Barden is strong. He's really good with a sickle, and it translates pretty well to some of the smaller swords. And Zeppina's smart. She picks things up like crazy, mostly survival skills, but even some of the weapons."

Haymitch rubs a hand over his face as he thinks. I can't read his expression, and his silence is making me nervous. He needs to say yes. This is my only shot at surviving the first arena. If the Careers are really going to go after me like everyone seems to think, I'm going to need all the help I can get. A part of me feels bad for ignoring my district partners in all of this, but I know that an alliance with them would never work. I'd be too attached by the sheer fact that they're from my district, and if it came down to it, I don't think I'd be able to kill them.

"The first one could work, if you think you can trust him," Haymitch says with a pointed look. "The second one, I'm not so sure about. People like that can be cunning. When things get tough, they'll turn on you in a second."

He's only telling me things I already know, but I think over his words carefully. I'm not afraid of Barden. Despite this being a game to the death, I don't think he would have it in him to turn on his allies. But Haymitch may be right about Zeppina. I don't know much about her. I had noticed her once or twice on the first day, working at the knot tying station, and she was very good at it. She had also proven that she could pick up weapons pretty easily. Like me, she wasn't great at them, but she wouldn't be easy to take down either. She doesn't seem usually cold or ruthless, and she's incredibly reserved. But she's smart. And the way she quietly observes everything around her tells me there's more going on in her head than she lets on. She watches everything, cataloguing every piece of information for future use. Her gaze is always calculating, and I know that I'll have to watch her closely.

She may not be the most physical threat, but the sly ones are always dangerous, like the girl from Five last year. If it weren't for those berries, who knows what would have happened.

"I'll keep an eye on her, Haymitch. I'll keep one on both of them."

"Alright, if you're sure. I'll talk to their mentors today. But," he says, giving me a shrewd look, "the training score could change things. We may not get an answer until they announce them."

I give him a quick nod. I hadn't thought about that. My score will be mediocre at best, which doesn't do much for me besides get the Careers off my back. It won't get me more sponsors, because no one really cares unless you score above an eight. For all I know, both Barden and Zeppina are harboring some secret skill that could get them a high score, and they won't want to work with me. Usually high scores are enough to get the Careers to consider you as a potential ally or a threat, depending on how you act towards them. But since there are already twelve of them this year, a good score will only make you into a target. Which means that if Zeppina and Barden score well, it could be problematic for me.

I sigh. This doesn't change anything though. They're the only people I'll consider working with in the arena, so I just have to hope for the best.

The clock tells us that it's a quarter to 10:00, meaning that it's time for us to head down to the Training Center for our final day. The nerves hit me full force as I make my way to the elevator, and I'm glad that I haven't eaten much because I'm sure I would throw it up.

"Don't be discouraged if the Gamemakers don't seem to be paying attention to you," Peeta says as we wait for the elevator. "I know that this may sound bad, but they'll have already sat through forty-four other tributes, and they might be a little distracted when it's time for your session. Just stick to your plan, and it should be okay."

 _Great_. It's another thing I hadn't thought of. My session is going to be lackluster as it is, but I'll probably look especially boring after they've already watched all the other tributes go. _There's no way I'm scoring above a four._

I glance up nervously from my spot at the shelter making station. It's near the center of the room, so I've got a pretty good view of all the tributes. Now if only I could make myself move.

I had entered the Training Center with every intention of asking Barden and Zeppina about an alliance. I even practiced what I would say. But of course, as soon as I spotted him at the far end of the room, I chickened out because of yet another thing I hadn't thought of. Barden was at the wrestling station, talking to more people I don't know. Seeing him there, it hits me that an alliance may already be out of the question. Barden seems to know everyone, and there's a good chance he's already entered into an alliance with someone else.

Or he could just say no. He didn't seem too concerned about the Careers yesterday, but if he thinks that I'll attract danger, there's no way he'd say yes, no matter how nice he is.

So that leads me to where I am now; building a shelter out of something called palm leaves, while trying to work up the nerve to approach Barden and Zeppina. I groan. _What is wrong with me?_ I'm not a shy person, and this really shouldn't be that difficult. It's not a big deal. Except for the fact that it might be my only chance of staying alive _._

I huff in annoyance and push myself up from my knees. I need to get this over with. Steeling myself for the worst possible outcome, I take a breath and stride across the room towards the tree climbing station where Barden and Zeppina have migrated. They're having a conversation, but I can't hear what they're saying over the sound of the other tributes. I wonder if they're discussing alliances. As Barden is talking, I manage to catch his gaze, and he gives me a boyish grin as I make my way over.

His eyes are full of mirth as he turns to me. "Hey, Briar. What brings you over here? Come to show us how they climb trees in Twelve?"

I roll my eyes good-naturedly. "Just because Katniss knows how to climb trees, doesn't mean that everyone in District Twelve does. I've only done it a few times," I say with a shrug. "I'm not very good at it."

"You held yourself on the ropes pretty well yesterday, though," Zeppina says. "You'd probably be able to pull yourself up better than most."

I purse my lips and shrug again. "Maybe."

I need to stop talking about trees. I don't know how to approach the subject of an alliance though. I should have asked Haymitch.

"So, uh, are you guys ready for the arena?" I wince when the words leave my mouth.

 _Wow. Stupid question._

Barden looks at me with an amused expression, and Zeppina raises an eyebrow.

I groan aloud. It's best to just spit it out. "What I meant is..." I pause while I struggle to find the right words. "What I meant to ask is if either of you would be interested in an alliance…with me."

Even though I'm nervous, I'm determined to show them how serious I am. I make eye contact with both of them as they take in my words. Neither of them move for a few moments, and I'm convinced that they're trying to figure out how to tell me no, but then Barden smiles down at me.

"Sure."

 _Sure_. That's all he has to say? Not that I'm complaining. If only I had known it was going to be that easy. I would have saved myself a lot of stress. I give him a thankful smile and turn my gaze on Zeppina. Her lips are pursed, and I can tell she's seriously debating her answer. She looks between us once before speaking.

"I'll have to talk to my mentor first."

I give her a quick nod and a small grin. "Yeah, okay. Haymitch⎯-my mentor⎯-said he would talk to your mentors today anyway."

They both give me a nod, and the conversation is over as soon as it started. Relief fills my chest as we make our way to another station. I'm sure they're both more than aware that going into the arena on your own, against forty-seven other people would be suicide, no matter what skills they have. But, that didn't mean they had to say yes to _me_ , considering that I haven't exactly been Katniss Everdeen the last two days.

Zeppina hadn't given me a definite answer, but at least she's thinking about it. She strikes me as the type of person who would have no qualms about turning me down if she didn't think it was in her best interest, so I take it as a win. She hadn't been my main priority anyway. Barden seems to like her enough, but I don't know if the kid has it in him to dislike anyone. Even still, liking someone doesn't equate to trusting them. As much as I like Barden, I can't let myself trust him completely; I can't let myself trust either of them. I've seen where that leads, and I have no desire to go there.

When it comes time for lunch, the three of us sit by ourselves, and I'm glad of it. I don't want to sit anywhere near that kid from Three again. A lot of the other tributes are sitting by themselves as well, and the room is unnaturally quiet as we all wait for our turn to impress the Gamemakers. It makes it pretty easy to tell who's in an alliance with whom, but aside from the Careers, I don't think anyone cares much. All the kids from my district are sitting alone. It makes me feel bad, but I immediately push the thought from my mind. Sympathy won't get me anywhere in the arena. A good training score on the other hand…

The number in the room is quickly dwindling as each tribute is called out. The tributes from One, Two, and Four all stride out of the room with confident smirks on their faces, and the anxiety gnawing at my stomach grows worse with each passing minute. I can tell that Zeppina, and even goofy Barden, are becoming more and more nervous as well.. We all watch in silence as the first of the girls from Five is called into her session.

Barden seems unable to bear the quiet for much longer, turning and asking, "Do you guys have any idea what you're gonna do in there?"

I wish more than anything that I had an answer to give him, but nothing has changed since this morning. I still have no idea what I'm going to show them.

"I'm going to try and mix it up a little. Show them a couple different things."

Barden nods his head at my answer and turns to Zeppina. "I have a plan," is all she says, and neither one of us asks her to explain further. It doesn't really matter what she does in there so long as she gets a decent score.

The next few minutes pass quickly, and before I know it, Zeppina is called in. She looks to have paled a couple shades as she stands from her seat. We wish her luck as she gives us one last look before making her way to the Training Center. Barden and I don't talk after she leaves, the both of us just picking at our food. Soon enough, Barden too is sent off to the Gamemakers, and I'm left alone at the table to figure out exactly what I plan on doing in my own session.

As slow as the time seemed to pass before, it flies by after Barden leaves, and I find myself extremely flustered because I still feel unprepared. Both Collis and Karn have already gone in, and I know it's only a matter of time before they call my name. The room is completely silent now, as Thalia and I wait for our turns. She's sitting a few tables away from me, which I think is a good thing, considering she looks about ready to throw her lunch back up. Not that I'm feeling much better.

"Briar Kinross!"

I snap my head towards the door when the attendant calls my name. Slowly, I stand on shaky legs and start making my way towards the gymnasium. I pass Thalia on the way out. She's staring at me like a spooked animal, and I try to give her a small smile and a quiet good luck.

I walk into the Training Center with a determined look on my face, hoping to show the Gamemakers that I'm a serious contender, but as soon as I enter the room, all of my worries are confirmed. It's exactly like Peeta had said it would be. None of the Gamemakers are paying any attention to me as I move to the center of the room, all of them too engrossed in whatever loud conversation they're having.

I clear my throat loudly before addressing the group. "Briar Kinross, District Twelve."

Most of them barely look at me. A few of them give me a nod of acknowledgement, but I can't help but think that it's because they're expecting me to do something impressive like Katniss did last year. A large man in the center looks over at me from the box. He must be the new Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee.

"You may begin, Ms. Kinross."

I remember what Haymitch said as I make my way over to the snare station. _I have to show them versatility. It's good in the arena._

The snare I make is a complicated one. It's motion activated, triggering when the animal steps onto the noose and releasing the trap. I use a dummy to demonstrate, and I breathe a heavy sigh of relief when it actually works. I move to the shelter station next, quickly building the same one I had worked on earlier in the day with palm leaves. Most of them either look bored to death or have gone back to completely ignoring me by this point. I narrow my eyes at them as I practically stomp my way over to the edible food and insects station.

It's one station I'm particularly eager to show my skill at. I'm sure the Gamemakers still remember the girl from Five who died because of the berries, so I hope that they now consider it a relatively important thing to know. I breeze through it, easily remembering the little bits of information. One man in dark suit gives me a nod of approval.

I know that I'm running out of time, so I quickly make my way over to the knife station. I grab a couple different knives, all of them light, as well as a dummy, which I drag to the middle of the floor. I make sure to be extra loud as I place it on the ground. Satisfied that it catches the attention of some of the Gamemakers, I pace out 10 yards from the dummy and start throwing. I recall my work with Mr. Fairbain, and I try to aim for all the crucial points in the body, areas that are heavy in muscle or could cause someone to bleed out. By the time I'm done, I've managed to hit the thigh, twice in the stomach, and once in the neck. The hits make me look like a better shot than I really am, but it serves it purpose because a few more of them are looking over at me.

Plutarch Heavensbee nods at me again. "Thank you, Ms. Kinross. You are dismissed."

I try to walk out of the room looking as confident as I had when I walked in while a pair of Avoxes lead me out of the gymnasium and into the elevator. My brave facade is pretty much the only thing I have going for me at this point. I'm suddenly overcome with the urge to hit something or to cry. Possibly both. I wasn't impressive at all, and they barely paid any attention to me.

 _I'll be lucky if I get a four._

When the elevator door opens to the apartment, I hear the sound of hushed conversation. From where I'm standing I can that all the mentors are huddled together, whispering intently to each other. I stand where I am for a moment, not really sure what to do, before Peeta catches sight of me. They all straighten up when he looks at me, and their conversation stops abruptly.

"How did it go?" Haymitch questions from across the room.

The elevator ride wasn't nearly long enough to make me calm down. I want nothing more than to go to sleep and pretend like today never happened, but I don't tell them that. They'll understand soon enough when they see my score.

I try to keep a neutral front when I answer. "It was okay. I'll explain more later. I'm just going to take a shower real quick." I don't give any of them time to reply, before I turn and quickly walk to my room. I lock the door behind me before stripping off my clothes and making my way to the shower. The hot spray helps me calm down a little, but it doesn't make most of the frustration or dejection go away.

I don't know what I'm going to do now. I'm going to lose whatever sponsors I may have had before. No one wants to support a weak tribute. I let out a disheartened moan at the thought. I can't help but think about what Mr. Fairbain and Mabel will think when they see my score. They'll know what it means for me, and I know that I'll be letting them down. It's even more frustrating because I know that there's nothing I could have done to make my private session go better. That was as good as it was ever going to get. I really hope it doesn't make me lose my alliance. Then I'd be a goner for sure.

I shake my head and mentally chide myself at the thought. I have to stop letting myself get down so easily. I can't let this change anything. If this causes me to lose sponsors, if Barden and Zeppina decide that they don't want to be allies, I'll find another way because I have to. I'll prove to them in the arena that I'm determined to win the Games.

By the time I emerge from my bedroom, it's time for dinner, and everyone has migrated back to the main room. Thalia must have returned sometime during my shower. She looks sad again, and I assume that her session didn't go well either. By the looks of it, no one seems to think their session went too well. Even Karn doesn't look confident, which doesn't bode well for the rest of us. I spot Portia and Cinna down at the end of the table, as well as Gaius and Althea. This is the first night they've joined us for dinner. I assume it has to do with the announcement of the scores tonight. I can already imagine how disappointed they're going to be.

I make my way over to the table, and sink down into my usual seat. I must have missed everyone else explaining how their session went, because the table is relatively quiet. The only conversation going on is something about the interviews coming up in two days. I'm momentarily distracted by the smell of the food as I scoop some bread and chicken covered in brown sauce onto my plate. I'm starving thanks to my nerves making it impossible for me to eat anything earlier. Unfortunately, I barely have any time to take my first bite before Haymitch starts interrogating me about what happened in my private session.

"Alright, kid, how was it?"

I swallow the piece of chicken I had been chewing. I'm pretty sure my face has contorted into a grimace as I try to explain. "It was pretty much exactly like Peeta said it would be. They were being loud, and laughing, and no one really paid any attention to me. And I'm pretty sure I disappointed the few who were watching. They looked like they were expecting me to do something impressive. Which I didn't."

"What did you show them?" Haymitch asks with a raise of his eyebrows.

"I tried to be versatile," I say, "but I think I just came off as boring. I made a snare and a shelter. I did the edible plants and insects test, and I showed them the other thing we talked about. I got lucky on a few of the shots."

Haymitch shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. They don't know that."

Cinna sends me a smile from the other end of the table. "It sounds like you did fine. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

Their reassurance doesn't do much to make me feel better. I can't help but think that I've disappointed everyone. Katniss and Peeta both did so well last year. I won't even come close to their scores.

I don't say much else over the course of dinner, nor when we migrate over to the couch when the announcement starts. Caesar and Claudius' faces appear on screen, their voices just as loud and excited as I remember them. Slowly but surely, they begin to show the scores. Faces pop up as Caesar reads their marks. Everything goes pretty much as expected for the Careers. Mace gets a ten, and everyone else from his district gets a nine. Cato and both the girls from Two all get tens, while the other boy gets a nine. All the kids from Four score either an nine or an eight. They're going to be nearly impossible to beat.

Only a few other people stand out. Zeppina manages an eight, which doesn't come as a surprise to me. I knew that she had some other skills that she hadn't revealed. One of the boys from Seven that I remember from the reaping scores a ten. Probably good with an ax. Barden's face appears on screen, and Caesar announces a score of nine. Not entirely unexpected, but I wonder what this means for our alliance. None of the kids from Ten score well. I feel a little guilty for my smug smile when the rat-faced boy gets a four. Eleven is equally unimpressive, and Caesar announces that it's time for District Twelve.

I hold my breath as he begins to announce our scores. Collis receives a seven, which seems to catch him by surprise, though he's happy nonetheless. Karn manages to pull a nine, and I have to fight down the feeling of uneasiness it gives me. My face appears on screen, and I slowly let out the breath I was holding while Caesar announces my score. I somehow manage to get an eight.

 _An eight._

The sense of relief that overcomes me is practically euphoric. Everyone gives me their congratulations, and Haymitch even raises his glass to me. I smile back in return. After they announce Thalia's score of five, Caesar and Claudius sign off, saying that this year will indeed be exciting.

"You should all be very proud of yourselves," Effie tells us with a sincere smile.

Haymitch gives me a quick pat on the shoulder. "Nice job, kid," he says. "Must have done something right."

I don't know how I managed to get that score considering most of the Gamemakers weren't paying any attention to me, but I'm not about to start complaining. My time on the obstacle course must have really given me a boost. Either that or Haymitch must have been right, they were probably impressed by my versatility.

It feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my chest. I haven't disappointed anyone. An eight is considered a decent score—a good score even—going into the arena. It will help me keep my sponsors because I don't look weak, while simultaneously getting the Careers off my back because I no longer look like a big threat. It's a win-win as far as I'm concerned.

"I have news for you as well," Haymitch says after a minute. "You're in." He elaborates after seeing my look of confusion. "Both Nine and Six have agreed to the alliance."

My face breaks into a smile. This might just work.

The next day can only be described as pure torture. Everyone is given a day to prepare their tributes for the interviews tomorrow and as it turns out, my little session with Effie the other night does not count as a part of my preparation. Instead I'm put through a grueling three hours of Effie teaching me things like posture, eye contact, how to carry my dress, and smiling. I tell Effie I'm pretty sure I know how to do the last one already, but she just shushes me and tells me to practice in the mirror. Eventually, she comes to the conclusion that my best smile is my "shy smile," whatever that means.

Then she moves back to walking in high heels. I'm a little better this time, but I still wobble around like I'm learning to walk for the first time. I almost trip over my dress about three times, which only results in me throwing the stupid shoes across the room, and Effie almost having a panic attack while she chastises me. Then there's more talk about things like waving, sitting, and not sighing like I don't want to be there. I think that one is the hardest of them all.

After a quick lunch, I'm passed off to Haymitch for practice on the content of my interview. This part goes a little better considering I had gone over a lot of it with Effie earlier in the week, but it still puts me in a sour mood. It apparently comes through in the way I answer, because Haymitch stops asking his questions and stares at me for moment. I raise a brow at him, and gesture for him to go on.

"You've got to relax a little. You may be smiling, but your tone makes you sound resentful, and like you don't want to be here."

I huff slightly. "That's because I _am_ resentful, and I _don't_ want to be here."

He rolls his eyes. "But you can't let them know that. You have to make them connect with you, and you can't do that if they think you secretly hate them." Haymitch holds a hand up in my direction, no doubt predicting the words that are about to come out of my mouth. "Let's try something different. Pretend you're talking to someone you actually like. Good. Now, what about your father? How does he feel about having to send another child into the Games?"

The question takes me off guard for a moment. I had never considered that Caesar might ask something like that. What does my father think about it? I come up empty. "Um, I wouldn't really know. I haven't talked to him since before I was reaped," I say with a shrug.

I hadn't expected to him to come say goodbye. It's something reserved for people that actually care. He hadn't even wanted to come when Amelia was reaped. I practically had to drag him into the Hall of Justice.

Haymitch seems a little surprised by my answer. Or maybe it's because I left the anger out of my voice.

We work for about another hour after that. He asks questions about things like working in the butcher's shop, my friends, Amelia, Demetrius, and Cato. I try my best to sound friendly and smile. Haymitch doesn't stop me again, so I take that as a good sign. By the time we finish, I'm completely worn out, and Haymitch doesn't look to be fairing much better.

"Well, you definitely have the sympathy angle working for you, kid." He says it without any malice, more like he's talking to himself than to me.

I snort lightly even though I don't find it funny at all. Whatever it takes to win, I guess.

When I awake the next morning, I'm immediately whisked away to be worked on by my prep team for the interviews tonight.

"How is our favorite tribute?" Garric asks as he and the rest of my team scuttle into the room.

I resist the urge to point out that I'm their only tribute, and instead give them a small smile. "I'm fine. A little nervous about tonight."

"Oh you'll be wonderful," the small man says. "Cinna is going to make you look fabulous. As will we too, of course."

From there, everything seems to blur into different sensations of pain and levels of discomfortable as they try to make me look presentable. To my discomfort, I'm naked once again, and they set about removing every little piece of hair from my body, even though I didn't think there was any left after my first day in the Remake Center. Then I'm covered in a variety of lotions that according to Clio, are meant to literally make me shine on stage. At least I'll fit in with the Capitol people. Garric paints my nails in the same sheer color he did for the parade while Petronia pulls my dark hair to one side of my head and curls it, placing feathers throughout. Clio then sets to work on my make-up, covering my face in layer upon layer. The styling around my eyes is dark and sharp as is the make-up on my cheeks. I look as bird-like as I did for the parade.

Cinna enters shortly after with my dress, and my prep team practically swoons when they pull it out and slide it over my head. It's soft and light, and I'm surprised by its simplicity until Cinna tells me it's missing the final touch. He wraps a flexible sort of wiring around me, and Petronia helps me into my shoes. They're incredibly high, and I'm already terrified that I'm going to trip as Cinna leads me over to the mirror.

Once again, I am amazed by what Cinna has managed to do. The dress is even more gorgeous than the one I wore for the chariot rides. It's strapless, and the fabric of the dress is a mixture of earthy greens, yellows, and browns. The wiring he placed around me looks like golden branches and leaves twisting together as they wrap around my torso and drape over the skirt of the dress. It's enchanting, and I have no words to describe to Cinna just how thankful I am.

"Do you like it?" he asks me sweetly as we all admire the dress in the mirror.

"I…I love it, Cinna," I breathe out softly. "I don't know what to say. It's amazing."

He smiles at me. "You don't have to say anything. This is your night."

Not long after, it's time to head down. My prep team rushes out of the room as Cinna slowly leads me out into the hall. I have to grab his arm with one hand while I hike up my dress with the other, taking very cautious steps. The nerves are only making me stumble worse. The practice with Effie did nothing to prepare me for these heels.

The rest of District Twelve is already waiting for us by the elevator. I have to admit that everyone looks amazing. Thalia is in a knee length, pink dress that makes her look childlike and incredibly sweet, while Collis and Karn look strong and commanding in crisp black suits. Effie and the mentors all look good as well. I notice that Katniss and Peeta are once again dressed like the fiery couple they're known as in the Capitol.

"Are you ready to go out there, kid?" Haymitch asks me as the elevator begins to move.

I give a shaky laugh at his question. "No, not really. I don't know how to be the person they're expecting." I shake my head a little. "I don't even know _what_ they're expecting."

"Just remember what we practiced yesterday, and you'll do fine."

I think I must look pretty bad if Haymitch is actually trying to make me feel better.

The doors open on the main floor, and I'm met with the sight of forty-four other tributes getting their final preparations for the interview. The four of us are quickly ushered into the line of tributes waiting to take the stage. I can't see Zeppina or Barden in the group of people, though I think I might see the back of Barden's head looming above the crowd.. I'm placed in between Collis and Karn, meaning that I'm once again going second to last. I can only hope that the audience isn't as bored as the Gamemakers were.

Some Capitol employee signals from the front of the line, and we begin our walk on stage. The seats are arranged in an arc with two levels of platforms for the tributes to sit on. I'm extra cautious of my steps, praying that I don't fall as I make my way to my seat. I'm pretty sure the entire audience can see how fast my heart is beating as I take shaky steps, finally finding my way to the chair. I cross my ankles and sit up straight. I'm sure Effie is proud.

My nervousness doesn't ease at all when I get a good look at the audience. The City Circle is overflowing with people screaming enthusiastically at us. And there are camera crews everywhere. I'm reminded that everyone is Panem is going to see this. I wonder if my father will be watching. Of course he is; it's mandatory _._ I hope that I don't disappoint Mr. Fairbain or Mabel.

The sound of music fills the circle as Caesar Flickerman waltzes his way onto the stage. If I weren't so nervous, I'd laugh at how ridiculous he looks. His orange hair is even worse in person, as is his usual blue suit with the tiny light bulbs. He is without a doubt, a very strange man. Caesar gives a brief welcome and cheer for the Quarter Quell. He wastes no time in beginning the interviewing process, calling down the first girl from One. Her interview is over quickly, and I'm simultaneously relieved and worried by how short the two minutes seem. It's all the time I have to make an impression.

Mace is up after her. His angle seems to be a mixture of sly and charming. I think he comes off as repulsive, but all the women in the audience are practically melting into puddles with every word he speaks. The next few tributes are no different, each working their angle to perfection. I try to block out most of what they say so that I don't psyche myself out. That is until Caesar calls Cato up.

He saunters his way towards Caesar, looking formidable in his shiny silver jacket and black pants. Caesar gives a theatrical wince as the two shake hands, and Cato gives a good-natured laugh in return. I try not to scowl. He's a good actor.

"So, Cato, how are you enjoying the Capitol so far? Everything to your liking?"

Cato chuckles. "Of course, Caesar. Everything's been great. There's no place like the Capitol." The crowd goes wild for that.

Caesar gives an outrageous laugh. "Right you are, my boy. So let's get straight to the point. How prepared are you for these Games? We all saw your score of ten. I mean, what a number!"

His face instantly becomes arrogant, and the cold-blooded look fills his eyes once again. "I'm more than ready, Caesar. I came here to win, and that's what I'm going to do." The audience is lapping up every word he says. They can tell that he's brutal, just like they want.

"We all know your brother, Demetrius." More cheers. "Hoping to follow in his footsteps?"

Cato smirks, but I can tell he's a little irritated. He doesn't like being compared to anyone, and we both know where this conversation is heading. "Like I said Caesar, I'm here to win."

"I bet you are." Caesar's face takes on a serious, but conspiratorial look as he leans in closer to the blond boy. "Now, Cato, we all know the circumstances surrounding your brother's win. So, I have to ask you about a certain other tribute." He turns towards the audience.

My pulse is thrumming as the crowd cheers, and I can feel more than one camera trained on my face. I try not to fidget in my seat. They don't need to say my name out loud for everyone to know that Caesar means me. "How do you feel about going against her after what happened in your brother's Games?"

Cato's jaw clenches, but he speaks just as confidently as before. "The situation is definitely unique, Caesar, but it doesn't change anything. Nothing is going to get in my way. I'm vicious, and I'm ready to go."

The volume of the crowd is practically deafening as the buzzer sounds, and Caesar raises Cato's hand. "District Two's Cato!"

He stomps his way back to his seat, even though it's clear from the pitch of the audience that they loved him. He played his angle as the ruthless killing machine perfectly. I'm relieved that he doesn't look over at me because I have no doubt that it would display just how much he wants to kill me. I've just stolen some of his spotlight, and he is not pleased. The thought makes the knots in my stomach tighten to a painful degree.

I scan the audience for any familiar faces, and spot my team over on a landing to the left of me. When I look over, I can see Peeta send me a smile and Haymitch make a gesture telling me to take a deep breath. It helps me calm down a little, and I try to relax into my seat.

Districts Three, Four, and Five go as expected. Three is relatively unremarkable, but I have to resist the urge to glare when Fuse takes the stage. Everyone loves Four. They're Careers, and they have the Capitol eating out of the palm of their hand. Five is the same as Three: unmemorable. The heat rises to my cheeks as I get more and more nervous, and I have to look over at my team again.

Then come Districts Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine. Zeppina looks elegant in a light orange dress as she slowly makes her way towards the host. She plays coy the entire interview, and I think it goes over well with the audience. They've taken interest in her because she scored an eight. The crowd loves the boy from Seven who received a ten. He looks strong and confident, but he's got a boyish face, and he speaks with a slight lisp. Caesar makes a joke about how it's endearing, and the people agree. The twelve year olds from Eight are nervous and shy, but to Caesar's credit, his does everything in his power to make them look good. The Capitol fawns over Barden when he takes the stage, and even I can't help a small smile. He's boyish and charming, but his training score tells everyone knows that he's skilled too. He's almost like a humble version of Finnick Odair.

Districts Ten and Eleven follow but they too are nothing particularly noteworthy. Before I know it, Thalia is being called up, and I see her make her way over to Caesar. She looks terribly nervous, but he does his best to put her at ease. She's surprisingly charming, which I credit to Peeta's mentoring. The buzzer sounds, and Collis takes her place. My stomach is practically in my throat by now. He's quiet, but sincere as he answers all of Caesar's questions about the Games and the Capitol. I feel like I'm about to throw up as he makes his way back to his seat, and Caesar calls my name.

My mind is immediately flooded with Effie's advice: shy smile. Pull up the dress as I walk, but not above the ankles, never above the ankles. Shy smile. Don't trip. Head up. Eye contact. Shy smile.

I slowly make my way towards Caesar, trying my best not to trip down the stairs. I'm legitimately worried that I'm going to waste my two minutes just walking to him. Finally though, I reach him, taking his outstretched hand in mine.

"Well, don't you look positively ravishing? Doesn't she, folks?" Caesar's booming voice calls out to the audience. I think they cheer, but it sounds muted with all the buzzing in my ears.

I swallow dryly before putting on my "best smile" and speaking. "Thank you, Caesar. It's all thanks to my prep team and stylist. They're amazing."

"Yes, who could forget about them? They did such a wonderful job at the Tribute Parade. Could you explain that outfit to us? It was quite different from the fiery duo last year, but equally as lovely."

I laugh lightly. "Well you see, Caesar, fire and I don't exactly go well together." I hold up my still healing burn for the people to see. The crowd roars with laughter, like I've just said the funniest thing they've ever heard. I'm thankful they're so easy to amuse.

"So, Cinna decided to dress me up like a canary. They help the workers in the mines. If the miners hear them singing, they know the canary is alive and well. They know that the mines are safe." I don't go into their symbolism. I don't think Snow would be too fond of me talking about freedom.

"I guess it's safe to say you don't plan to stop singing anytime soon." Caesar laughs at his joke, and I fake my own.

"So, we all saw that you scored a eight in training. You want to let us in on some of your secrets?"

I pull another shy smile. "I can't go revealing all my cards just yet. I've got to save some surprises for the arena." The crowd oohs and ahs at that, seeming to like my secrecy. I don't know where this person is coming from, because I still feel like I'm about to vomit.

"Now, Briar," Caesar says, his voice suddenly becoming serious. "I'm going to have to ask you about your sister." He draws each word out before turning to direct a painful wince at the crowd. For their part, the audience gives a low murmur of acknowledgment. I take a deep breath and steel myself. I'm prepared for this. I can do this.

"I can't imagine what you must have felt after being reaped for the Hunger Games, only to find out that the brother of the winner of the 69th Games, and Amelia's former alliance member had volunteered. Can you tell us what was going through your mind?"

I bite my lip, and try to keep my eyes trained on Caesar. I don't really have to act for this part. I remember what Haymitch told me yesterday, and I try to keep the anger out of my voice.

"I was shocked to say the least. Amelia was more than my sister, she was my best friend, and I lost her. It's been hard. I never expected to be reaped under circumstances like these. But like Cato said earlier, it doesn't make a difference. If anything, it only makes me more determined to win."

I tack on a smirk for good measure and the crowd shouts cheers of encouragement at me. Caesar takes my hand between his and gives me a smile. "I'm sure it does, my dear. I'm sure it does." He turns us to face the crowd as he holds my hand up, and the buzzer sounds. "Remember, our sympathy and our hearts are with you. The lovely Briar Kinross, tribute from District Twelve!"

I shuffle my way back to my seat as the crowd cheers madly behind me. My energy is completely drained, and I struggle to swallow the lump of emotion in my throat, but I manage to stay upright in my chair. I barely listen to what's said during Karn's interview, but I'm sure he's as cocky as ever if the cheers are anything to go by. I hear the buzzer sound and see Karn make his way back up to his seat. The anthem begins to play, and I hobble my way off stage and towards the elevator. I can't wait to be out of these shoes. I don't know how I've managed to lose my district partners in the short walk, but the car I'm forced into is filled with tributes and mentors and escorts that I don't know.

My entire district is in the apartment by the time I step out of the elevator. They rush over, or stumble in Haymitch's case, to me to give their congratulations.

"You were brilliant, Briar. Simply brilliant," Effie raves. "Thank goodness you took my advice. And the smile!" she says with an exaggerated gasp. "I knew it would work out for the best."

I accept Effie's compliments with a grin. Even if I don't want to admit it, I know that she's right. My interview would have been a disaster without her.

"You did good, kid. The Capitol loves you," Haymitch tells me with a small smile. It's a real one, and it instantly makes me feel lighter. I haven't disappointed anyone.

I take a quick shower before joining everyone at the table for dinner. The mood is surprisingly light, everyone trying to enjoy this as much as they can before the reality of tomorrow hits. I make sure to eat as much as I can, there's no telling when I'll eat another meal like this. About halfway through dinner, Peeta turns on the recap of the interviews.

It's different watching them play out on screen, but it's just as easy to tell whom the Capitol favorites are. All of the Careers are incredibly popular, and it's clear from the cut of the interview that the Capitol thinks that one of them is going to come out as the winner.

Zeppina's interview doesn't go as well as I thought it had. The audience enjoys her, but I don't think she was memorable. Both boys from Seven appear to be fan favorites. I don't remember the one without the lisp, but the interview is cut in a way that makes him look like a serious contender.

Barden's interview goes even better than I originally thought. The audience is nearly beside themselves with how charming he is. I'm glad to be in alliance with him because I wouldn't stand a chance if I were against him. I recognize Nox from the day I had lunch with her. Her interview looks much better onscreen than it did from my seat. She's mysterious and beautiful, and the Capitol loves it. I add her to the list of people to watch out for in the arena. Unfortunately for both Thalia and Collis, their interviews are forgettable. They look good, and they speak well enough, but it's nothing special, and it won't get them many sponsors.

My dress looks incredible as I make my way to Caesar, the crowd sounding louder than I remember it. I realize just how right Haymitch and Effie had been about the Capitol already having an interest in me. I look confident on stage, and I commend myself on my acting. You can't even tell that I thought I was going to be sick all over Caesar. When he brings up Amelia, you can see all the people waiting with bated breath for my answer. When I give my response, the camera flashes to Cato. He is the picture of calm, but there's a dangerous look in his eye that tells the audience and me that he is more than ready for the challenge. The whole situation ensures that I will be remembered when tomorrow comes. I hope it's enough to get sponsors. I pay close attention to Karn's interview because I hadn't been able to concentrate after my own. I was right to assume that he was confident. The arrogance practically radiates from him as he jokes with Caesar. He isn't charming though; he's just powerful. The people love it.

When Caesar signs off, he leaves us with a parting message about the beginning of the Quell tomorrow. The light mood is easily swept out of the room as reality begins to sink in. Early tomorrow morning, the four of us will be shipped off into the arena where we will have to battle for our lives. I could be dead in less than twenty-four hours. The thought makes me go rigid in fear.

I only force my body to move from its position when we begin our final good-byes. It's strange to think that I may never see these people again. I don't want to get too emotional though. I need to stay strong.

Effie is the first to go. She looks about ready to cry, but her voice is steady as she speaks.

"It was truly a pleasure working with all of you. I wish you all the best of luck. And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

I hate the phrase, but with the way Effie's voice cracks on the last word, telling me that she means every word she is saying, has me hoping that maybe the words will be true; that for once, the will be in my favor. Giving us each a hug, she quickly flees the room, leaving us to say our good-byes to our mentors.

Katniss is the first one to approach me, wishing me good luck and telling me to remember what she had said on the roof. I nod and tell her that I will. It would be impossible to forget the words.

Peeta comes next.

"Got any good advice for me?" I ask with a weak laugh.

He gives me a small smile. "Listen to Haymitch. He actually knows what he's doing most of the time." He pulls me into a quick hug.

"Thank you, Peeta. For everything," I say as we pull apart. I hope he knows just how thankful I am for that night on the train; how much his silent support means to me.

"Anytime, Briar." He wishes me luck before going over to Thalia.

I turn my gaze to Haymitch just as he finishes talking to Karn and begins making his way over to me.

I give him a tentative smile. "So this is it."

He nods. "For now."

"Any last minute pointers?" I try to keep my voice light, but it shakes a little as I say the words.

"Don't step off the podium early, unless you want to be blown to bits. And don't bother sticking around for the Bloodbath, nothing good ever comes of it. Take advantage of your speed, and get away from the others." I nod, eagerly taking in his words. "Try to get to your alliance as soon as possible, and find water. You'll have enough to worry about in the arena. You don't need that too."

When it's clear that he has nothing else to say, I give him another soft smile and extend my hand out to him. He stares at me, momentarily confused, before he takes my hand in his and gives it a quick shake.

"Thank you, Haymitch," I say, pouring as much sincerity into the words as I can. He's done what he could to help me get the best possible start in these Games, and even though he frustrates me, I couldn't be more grateful. He's given me a fighting chance. I pull my hand back from his and turn to go to bed.

"One more thing, kid," he says before I have the chance to leave. I turn back to face him. His eyes are serious, but there's a ghost of a smirk on his features. "Give 'em hell."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Next up, the Games! Getting more into the thick of things now.**

 **WhiteEevee: We're definitely going to see more of Barden and Zeppina in the next few chapters. Really liking that you love Barden lol. Thanks for the great review!**

 **musicinmymind12: Thanks (: I'm excited to post more**

 **There it is, you guys. Hope you enjoyed the new chapter. Catch the next one next Friday!**


	9. Chapter 8: Red Snow

**Chapter 8: Red Snow**

I wake to someone lightly shaking my shoulder. When I open my eyes, I'm met with the face of Cinna.

"It's time to get up, Briar," he says softly. "The hovercraft will be leaving soon."

I sit up in bed and groggily rub my eyes. I want nothing more than to curl up under the covers and never leave, but I force myself to accept the simple dress from him. He leaves the room, giving me privacy to get dressed.

My movements are stilted and sluggish from my lack of sleep, but I eventually finish getting ready. Cinna comes back a few minutes later, leading me up to the roof and into the hovercraft waiting for us. The sensation of being stuck to the ladder is strange and uncomfortable, but it is over quickly as Cinna and I enter the metal room inside. A woman in a white lab coat approaches me. She has some type of needle in her hand, and I instinctively pull away.

"What is that?"

It's Cinna who answers my question. "It's your tracker. Don't worry. It's standard procedure."

The woman grabs my arm, telling me to hold still as she jabs the needle into my skin. I flinch slightly at the stinging sensation.

"Why don't you go get something to eat?" Cinna asks, directing me towards a room where breakfast is laid out.

Anxiety and terror gnaw at my insides, and I feel sick to my stomach, but I force myself to eat as much as I can. I'll need the energy in the arena if I plan on surviving past the first night.

I don't know how long we're in the air for; the windows are blacked out, and I'm too lost in my own thoughts of what might happen in the arena to notice. When the hovercraft finally lands, we're led to the ladder again. From here, we're ushered into an underground room. The metal space is cold; it makes my hair stand on end and a shiver runs up my spine. I wonder whom the room belonged to last year. I wonder if they were one of the two who went home on a train or one of the twenty-two who went home in a coffin.

I have to stop myself from sobbing in the shower as my mind flashes with thoughts of Mabel and Mr. Fairbain. With thoughts of Amelia. I hate thinking that I now know how scared she was before she entered the arena: the fear clawing away at her and making it impossible to breathe. Her leather bracelet still sits on my wrist, and I hold it to my chest, trying to keep her as close to me as possible.

When I finish showering, Cinna pulls my hair into a simple low bun, reminiscent of the way I wore it for the reaping. There is a quick knock at the door before it opens, and a man carrying a small package walks in, handing the bag to Cinna before leaving. It's my clothes for the arena, the ones that all the tributes have to wear. The outfit has a lot of different pieces to it, and Cinna helps me put them on: beige pants, a blue shirt that covers each of my fingers individually, and a blue jacket that falls to the middle of my thighs and comes equipped with a large hood. The socks are thick wool and hug my feet tightly. The boots they give me sit mid-calf and are made from a material that I'm not familiar with. Cinna helps me tuck my pants into them and laces them up tightly.

"The clothes are thick and insulated, so expect something cold," he says as he zippers my jacket up. "Does everything feel okay? Are you comfortable?"

I take a few moments to test my movement. The outfit is heavy but easy to move in. I give him a quick nod. "They're good."

I feel my eyes welling up with tears again. I'm afraid that my legs will give out on me so I move to the couch and take a seat.

"I'm scared." My voice is a whisper in the cold room.

Cinna walks towards the couch and crouches down in front of me. He places one hand on my shoulder and the other under my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"I'd be a lot more worried if you weren't," he says quietly.

"I don't want to die."

 _I promised that I wouldn't let them win._

"Just remember what Haymitch told you. Even if you don't believe it now, you are strong enough to do this."

"Twenty seconds to launch," a female voice interrupts.

Cinna helps me rise from the couch, and I walk stiffly towards the tube waiting to bring me to my death. Cinna cups my cheek lightly, giving me his last words of wisdom.

"Have faith."

I choke out a thank you, and he steps back from me as the glass door closes. I take a deep breath, and straighten my posture. Cinna sends me one last smile before the tube begins to rise.

 _I can do this. I'm going to survive._

The first thing I hear when the tube rises is Claudius Templesmith's voice as it ricochets through the air around me.

"Ladies and gentleman, let the third Quarter Quell and the seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"

 _Sixty seconds._

For a moment, I notice nothing other than the crisp air of the arena. It's biting cold, and it contrasts sharply with the glaring sun in the artificial sky. My breath is visible in the air, and I figure the temperature must be below freezing because I can see snow in the distance. I can handle the cold. It isn't anything I haven't had to deal with before. Some people will probably freeze to death, especially the ones from the warmer districts.

I take in the land before me. It's beautiful. Unlike anything I've ever seen. We're on a flat strip of land. It's green, and there are tiny white flowers growing out of it. A valley completely surrounded by snow-covered mountains.

I scowl. It's some type of tundra; the type of environment you could find near the Capitol.

 _50, 49, 48, 47, 46…_

Fear strikes me again. It's beautiful, but dangerous. There's barely any cover. There are a couple boulders here or there, and a thin looking forest in the distance with an opening to the left, but it's impossible to tell what's over there thanks to the mountains. I know that whatever it is won't help much. There's nowhere to hide. Everything is going to be out in the open. Hunting will be easy. They want this arena over with quickly.

I let out a sigh of relief as I glance over my shoulder. Water. It looks to be about two miles away, maybe a little more, and it's the only major source in sight. There's a shallow brook that goes right through the Cornucopia, but with all the other tributes around, it's not an option. _The lake it is._ I have to get to it. That's what Haymitch told me to do. It's the smart thing to do. I don't want to die from dehydration.

 _37, 36, 35, 34, 33…_

I'm already shivering. The cold air nips at the exposed skin of my face as I look to the center of the ring of tributes, where the Cornucopia sits. It stands tall, maybe about fifteen feet high, and it's made of ice, the long tail sharp and glistening in the sunlight. The Careers always guard the Cornucopia, hoarding all of the supplies to themselves and killing anyone that comes near.

There are a couple packs lined up against it, but nothing there is strong enough to tempt me so I look away. I spot Cato a few people down to my right. He's glaring harshly at the Cornucopia, and I look back at the offending object. My eyes widen when I realize I've missed the most important detail. There is no opening: everything is frozen inside. Medicine, food, clothes, tools. There will be no getting supplies.

 _Even more reason not to stick around._

 _29, 28, 27, 26, 25…_

The sun glares off the ground, and I'm forced to squint as I try to identify the source. _Metal?_

They're weapons⎯-swords, flails, batons, knives⎯-scattered out across the ground. All close combat weapons.

No long range weapons and no cover. They want this arena over with quickly and with as much blood possible.

 _I'm going to die._

I try to stop my ragged breathing. I can't look weak.

Forty-seven pairs of eyes dart around the Cornucopia, trying to gage what their competition is planning since there will be no race to the inside of the Cornucopia. Zeppina is two people to my left. I catch her gaze and she gives me a look that's easy to read. _Run like hell_. I jerk my head backwards in the direction of the lake. She nods. I try to find Barden to give him the same message, but he's nowhere in sight. He must be on the other side of the Cornucopia. I hope he's smart enough to get out of here and find water.

 _18, 17, 16, 15, 14…_

I try to imagine Mr. Fairbain and Mabel sitting back in District Twelve, watching me. Are they scared? Do they miss me?

I'm never going to see them again.

 _Oh God._ I can't breathe _. I'm going to die._

" _9, 8, 7_ ⎯"

I snap my head to the side as a loud boom sounds through the air, and something warm and sticky splatters across my face. I gag as the familiar smell of iron fills my nostrils. I feel like I'm choking on it. My eyes are glued to the podium three places to my right, where there is nothing but smoke. The tribute is gone. My hand touches the red liquid on my face and Haymitch's words run through my head: " _Don't step off the podium early, unless you want to be blown to bits."_ I swallow shakily and wipe the blood on my pants. I don't know which tribute it was, only that they don't even get the chance to fight for their life.

The girl next to me vomits when she spots the leg in front of her.

 _One down, twenty-three to go._ I wince at the thought. _I can do this. I have to do this._

" _3, 2, 1."_

The gong sounds, and I jump down from the podium. I take off in a sprint towards the lake and don't look back in the direction of the Cornucopia. Something flies past my head. _A knife._ Somewhere in the back of my mind I register that I was a foot away from dying. I don't slow down though. The only thing I can do is be thankful that whoever threw it is a bad shot. The sound of screams and metal slicing through flesh rings in my ears, but I don't stop. My legs burn with the effort, but I can't afford to do anything but run as fast as I can. There's nowhere to take cover. I need to put as much distance between me and the others as possible.

I finally slow to a stop when I'm about a hundred yards away from the lake. I quickly scan the area to make sure that no one is around while I wait for Zeppina to show up. It's just a precaution though. I know that no one will be able to catch up to me for a while. I hunch over as I struggle to catch my breath and try to stop my legs from shaking. I'm a good runner, and I'm in shape, but I don't think I've ever run that fast in my entire life. I'm no longer shivering thanks to the adrenaline pumping through my body. I don't know what I'm going to do when it wears off though. These clothes may be insulated, but my head is wholly unprotected, and I know that I'll get frostbite if I don't find something to cover it with. It's probably what those packs were for. That and food, I note as I take a quick look around the area.

It looks nothing like District Twelve. Instead of tree-covered hills, there are snow-covered mountains. The land is rugged and broken, large boulders protruding from the ground here and there. It's different from the terrain at the Cornucopia and on the far side, both of which appeared to be flat and well maintained. We also don't have a lake like this in Twelve, or if we do, we aren't allowed anywhere near it. The lake is large, maybe about few miles wide both ways, and there are patches of ice on top of the water. It's probably too cold for anything that's not a muttation to live in. Besides the minor vegetation, there are very little signs of life.

I let out a disbelieving laugh as I remember what Haymitch said when I told him that I was pretty good with snares. Turns out he was right about there not being any food to catch. I wonder if the Gamemakers laughed at their little inside joke when they watched me make a snare in my private session.

The design of the arena only makes things worse. Everything of use appears to be located in the valley. It's meant to trap people, and the lack of cover means that everyone will be able to see every little thing that goes on. They want to force us together. You may be able to see your enemy approaching you, but there's nothing you can do about it. I want to take cover on the mountains, but they're completely covered in snow and rock. The temperature is probably even lower up there, and there definitely won't be any resources.

Sighing, I make my way over to the edge of the water. I'm just about to take a drink when a thought strikes me. I have no way to purify it. It could kill me. I debate the risk in my head. I'll definitely die of dehydration if I don't drink any, but there's no way to know what they've put in it. How long could I last without water? _Not long enough to win._ I might be able to melt some snow if I really need it, but I decide to wait for Zeppina and Barden before doing anything.

I'm suddenly struck with the thought that they might not be coming. They could both be dead at this point, slaughtered in the bloodbath while I ran for my life, and I wouldn't even know it until they show the Fallen tonight. The thought makes my chest tighten slightly. I could be in this alone.

I can't worry about that right now. I'll know soon enough.

The same glittering light from the Cornucopia distracts me from my thoughts. It's coming from multiple places around the lake, and I slowly make my way towards one to investigate. As I get closer, I realize that the glare is indeed the same one from before. The weapons aren't just spread around the Cornucopia, they're scattered throughout the entire arena. They'll be easy to come by, as will death. I pick up the knife lying at my feet and inspect it. I silently thank the Gamemakers for their selection when I realize that it's the same as the knives I practiced with in the Training Center: a bowie knife. Maybe I'll have a chance.

I stick it in the side of my boot before looking up towards the sky. A half an hour must have passed by now, and there is still no sign of Zeppina or Barden. I'm starting to get uneasy. It's only two miles, and it shouldn't be taking them this long to get here. I probably shouldn't stick around this part of the lake for too much longer. It's in the direct line of the Cornucopia, and any tribute heading this way will see me. Haymitch would kill me for being so stupid. I bite my lip as I think over what to do. Eventually, I decide that it's best for me to move, so I begin jogging around the side of the lake. It's huge, and backs up against a mountain on the far side. I decide to head in that direction because it will take me far enough out of the way while also giving me a better vantage point. My back will be protected, so no one can sneak up on me from behind.

It takes me almost two hours to reach the mountainside, and even with the running, I find myself shivering and struggling to breathe. The cold air is thin, and it makes my chest tighten painfully as I try to suck in oxygen. I grab the thick hood and yank it over my head, trying to retain as much body heat as I can. The sun is at the highest point in the sky, telling me that it's around noon. The arena is only going to get colder as the day passes.

I set about surveying the area, trying to keep myself warm as well as get familiar with the terrain. There is nothing to remind me of home. There is no sound of birds chirping from the trees or of people milling around while they work. It's completely quiet, the only sound coming from the occasional strong wind. The land looks just as ragged as the other side of the lake, only a couple of plants growing out of the rocky ground. The mountain face is almost completely bare aside from the snow that begins about halfway to the top. It's covered in crumbling and heavily fissured rock that will probably cause a landslide if I'm not careful. Climbing is out of the question for now.

I continue looking around for another hour, only stopping when the cannons begin to boom, signaling that the bloodbath has finally ended. The booming causes some small animal to scurry out from behind a rock about twenty yards ahead of me, so I know that there is at least some food to eat.

 _1, 2, 3, 4…._

 _Twelve_. Twelve children dead over the course of three hours. Twelve children who will be returning to their families in a coffin. I feel anger rise above the fear when I think about the people in the Capitol who bet on this; who bet on our lives. They're making money off of other people's terror and grief. The thought is sickening. I wonder how many people had me making it this far. I've made it farther than half of the competition. Only twelve more people to go, and I'll be back in the Capitol preparing for the second arena. The odds are getting better.

The thought does little to quell my frustration.

I wonder whom the cannons belonged to. Thalia? Collis? Karn? The idea that it could be one of them—or all of them—makes my stomach twist. I may not be attached to them, or even like them in Karn's case, but they are from my district. If I don't win, I would want it to be one of them. But if they are dead, this will be easier for me. I wouldn't be able to kill them.

Maybe the cannons belonged to some of the Careers. Nerissa, or Mace, or Cato. I know that it's just wishful thinking on my part. I'm a little terrified of my own thoughts; that I actually hope it's one of them. I shake my head. They may be kids, but they want to kill me, and not just because they want to survive. They want to kill me because they'd enjoy it.

I can't help but wonder if one of the cannons was for the tribute that stepped off the podium early. Everyone knows the consequences of doing so, but I've never seen it happen before. The tributes are either too excited to get started or too frozen in fear to make such a fatal error. They almost never jump early because of nerves. One of the cannons had to be for them. The death counts the same as all the rest. Whether they died during the countdown or in the bloodbath, they aren't going home.

As terrible as the thought is, I'm surprised that the toll isn't higher than twelve. With the amount of Careers in the Quell, I thought more would have been killed. Maybe that's why they froze everything in the Cornucopia. They want this part to end early, but not too early. The Capitol wouldn't get much enjoyment if the Careers just slaughtered everyone on the first day.

 _Where would the fun be in that?_

They're Cato's words from that night on the roof, from when he told me how it would ruin his fun if us weaker tributes decided to take ourselves out of the Games. I wonder if he's mad that one of the tributes got blown up before he had the chance to get them. One less person for him to murder.

The thought reminds me that I have still have the dead tribute's blood spattered on my face, and I practically run over to the lake, eager to get it off me. I'm shocked by what I find when I dip my hand into the water. The cloth covering my fingers comes up dry, the water rolling off it in tiny drops. The material must be waterproof so that our clothes don't get soaked, and we don't all die of hypothermia. No one in the Capitol enjoyed that the last time it happened.

I scoop the water up in my two hands and splash it on my face. I gasp when the icy water hits me, but I scrub eagerly, the idea of the blood being there making me feel more and more sick by the minute. Hopefully there aren't any cameras on me right now. I must look like I'm losing it already.

Something moves behind me, and I freeze. Someone is here. I'm not even going to make it past the first day. I'm going to die.

 _Shut up, no you're not._

Adrenaline starts rushing through me again, my body trying to decide whether to stay and fight or to flee. I know that whoever they are, they're too close for me to make a run for it. I might be fast, but I'll have nowhere to hide. The boulders wouldn't give me cover for long, and the mountain is too broken and steep for me to climb. The footsteps get closer, and I take a deep breath, making my decision.

I don't make any sudden movements, slowly reaching my hand towards the knife in my boot. I could get the upper hand if they think I haven't noticed them. Looking down at the water in front of me, I catch sight of my own reflection. I look terrified. I eagerly search the water for a glimpse of what's behind me. I think I can make out a small figure, definitely a person, but I can't see if they've got a weapon. I'll just have to hope that I can catch them off guard.

When I estimate that they're about twenty feet away from me, I stand up and whirl around, brandishing the knife out in front of me. The person startles, holding their hands out in front of them in a motion of surrender.

"It's just me."

Zeppina.

I breathe a sigh of relief and lower my weapon as I take her in. She looks tired, and she's panting slightly, but I can't tell if it's from running or the harshness of the climate. I make a mental note to remember that she is wearing a dark red jacket with beige pants like mine just in case I lose her at any point. She also has a black hat on her head.

"Where did you get that?" I ask. She looks confused. "Your hat," I clarify.

"Someone dropped it from their pack near the Cornucopia."

I give a small nod at her words. She must have stuck around the action longer than I did. Maybe she knows who some of the twelve kids were.

"What have you been doing? Were you at the Cornucopia for long?"

"I got caught back there," she says. I furrow my brows slightly at the evident anger in her voice. "I tried to get out, planned on following you over here, but some kid jumped me. I only got away after one of the Careers put a knife in his skull."

She says it like it was some minor annoying event, like it's some sort of inconvenience as opposed to the threat that it really was. It's a little unnerving, but then again I can't really talk. I haven't even thought about the knife that almost hit me in the head. If I do, I know that I'll start freaking out over the fact that I almost died, and that won't help me at all. I wonder if the person who threw the knife at me was the same one that killed the boy that attacked Zeppina.

She takes a quick glance around the area before turning back to me. "How long have you been here?"

I shrug and look up at the sun. It's around three o'clock. I've managed to survive five hours into the Hunger Games. "Been here since I left the bloodbath."

"No sign of Barden?"

"No, you're the first person I've seen."

We lapse into silence, both of us still too unsure around each other. This could go downhill quickly if Barden is really dead already. I don't trust her, and I know that she doesn't trust me. We're both too wary for this to last without him. I don't even want to think about what might happen if we see his face in the sky.

I try to think of something to say, anything to fill the silence. I don't want to be left to my own thoughts in a place like this. I realize that I'm still holding the knife in my hand. Zeppina watches curiously as I bend down and place it back in my boot.

"Where'd you get the knife? I didn't think you had time to pick one up at the Cornucopia."

"I didn't," I say with a shake of my head. "They're spread out all over the place. All different kinds of weapons, but I think all of them are close combat. They probably stuck all the long range ones inside that giant block of ice." I snort slightly. "I guess they want us to get nice and personal."

Zeppina nods. "It's going to be brutal."

"What should we do about supplies?" I ask after a moment. "I've taken a look around, but as far as I can tell, the whole arena seems pretty sparse. I've only seen one animal since I've been out here, and I have no idea if the water is safe to drink."

She purses her lips as she takes in my words. "I don't know. Even the Careers are going to have a hard time getting that stuff out, and they won't want to waste their energy hacking away at it tonight. It'll probably take days to break through."

I dip my head in agreement. "They'll probably still guard it though. If they can't have whatever's in there, they won't want anyone else to get it either."

It's starting to look more and more like we're all going to have to rely on sponsors. I really hope Haymitch is right about the Capitol loving me, because aside from not being dead yet, I'm not off to a great start.

Zeppina walks closer to where I'm standing at the edge of the lake. She bends down and dips her hand in, splashing a little on her face. A small frown tugs at her mouth.

"It's freezing."

I blink once. _I thought that was obvious by the ice caps on the top._

"There probably won't be any animals in there," she says. "Most fish wouldn't survive. We should probably be okay to drink it though, unless you have another idea."

I shake my head. "The only other thing I could think of is melting some snow, but then we'd have to climb up the mountain, and it doesn't seem stable enough for that."

She looks thoughtful for a moment before she speaks. "If they aren't providing anything to clean the water with, it's probably safe to drink. They don't want everyone becoming deranged and dying from dehydration."

I nod in agreement. She's right; dehydration would be messy. There was a tribute in the sixty-seventh Games who became delirious from the lack of water and terror he no doubt felt. He became paranoid and vicious, decapitating and gouging out the eyes of the other tributes. Sometimes he'd do it with his own fingers. He ended up dying from the dehydration, which probably came as a relief to everyone: the other tributes, the Capitol, his family. No one wants to see something like that happen again.

Zeppina glances at me quickly before she begins walking around the area, checking it out for herself. Another thought suddenly hits me as I watch her survey the land. "How did you find me? I could have been anywhere by now," I say, confusion and worry coloring my voice. If she found me this easily, anyone could.

She shrugs. "It was pretty easy based on what I've seen from you in training. I knew you'd be smart enough to stick around the water source, but not stupid enough to stay where everyone could see you. I had to guess which side of the lake you picked though. This one had less of a slope in the mountain, so I chose it in case you planned on climbing."

I don't know what to say to that. I knew that she was smart, but I had no idea she had been watching me during training and would be able to find me just based on that. It's a little unnerving, and strangely flattering. There's no reason to watch someone unless you think they're a threat. I hope I'm not so predictable to everyone else.

"It's a good thing you didn't stick around, anyway. The Careers split into groups and one of them stopped at the lake. Got one of the girls from Eight."

I shiver at the news, thankful that I decided that it was best to move. I could have been that girl.

"Maybe we should make camp for the night," Zeppina suggests as she looks up towards the sky.

It can't be much later than four in the afternoon, but it's already getting dark. I note that it's like the winter back in Twelve, where night comes early and daylight is scarce. District Six has different weather than Twelve, but I know that they have harsh winters like we do. We're both familiar with how this works.

She turns back to me after looking at the mountain behind us and then towards the lake to my left. "It's a good spot. They'll only be able to approach us from one direction. It'll be easier to sleep with our backs protected."

"Besides, it wouldn't help to move around. The Careers are predictable. They'll go hunting tonight, even if they don't have supplies. They're too cocky not to. But I doubt they'd venture all the way out here in the middle of the night."

I scan the area for anything that we could use as cover. The only things in sight are the boulders, but I'm not sure what help they'll be. I rack my brain for something that I can do with them, trying to remember anything from past Games or the Training Center. Amelia's Games had taken place in a desert, but it was barren much like this arena. I vaguely recall someone using rocks to build a wall for protection.

Sighing at my admittedly weak idea, I turn towards Zeppina and suggest it to her. She looks at me strangely for a minute before something flashes in her eyes, and she agrees.

By the time we finish, it's almost completely dark, and the temperature has dropped well below freezing. It must be approaching zero. The wind has picked up considerably. It whips across my body and bites at my face. The force of it makes it nearly impossible to hear anything other than its whistling. We won't be able to hear anyone sneaking up on us. I figure that's the point. It helps keep some element of surprise even if there is no cover. You can't fight someone if you don't know they're there. Thankfully the rocks will help to break some of the wind, and maybe help to hide us.

I'm practically starving by now, and Zeppina doesn't seem to be faring much better. Most of the people in the arena must be hungry, considering the sparseness of the landscape, and I doubt many of them have gotten sponsors yet. It's too early in the Games for that; mentors will want to save the money up for when their tributes really need it.

Any hope I had that darkness would bring out some night creatures diminishes with every passing minute. The only bright side to this is that I doubt any large predators are hunting us. I scan the area for anything that we could eat for dinner, my eyes falling on a shrub ten feet to the right of Zeppina. I recognize it from the edible plants and insects test. It will be difficult to eat, and it won't taste very good, but it won't kill us either. I walk over to it and yank it out of the ground.

Zeppina raises her eyebrows as she glances between the plant and my face. "What are you doing?"

"Dinner," I say, tearing a piece of the shrub off and handing it her.

She looks down warily at my selection. "Are you sure this is safe?"

"Positive." She doesn't look convinced. It makes me roll my eyes at her, but she's still staring at the plant, so she doesn't notice. "You're the one who was watching me in the Training Center. How well did I do on the edible plants and insects test?"

She stares at me for a moment, weighing my words before slowly lifting the plant to her mouth. I do the same, taking a bite out of the bitter green. I'm sure the faces we make as we chew the plant amuse all of the people in Panem. It's tough, and it tastes terrible⎯-like something I would have eaten back in Twelve⎯-and I mentally curse the Capitol for feeding me such rich and delicious meals for the past week.

Sleeping is going to be tricky. It's probably best to do it in shifts, but it's far too cold to put distance between us. My teeth chatter uncontrollably, and my body is racked with shivers. Through the darkness, I can see that Zeppina looks just as bad as I do, but a fire is not an option. It would be suicide in open terrain like this. The Careers or some other tribute would find us in a second, and we'd be dead even quicker than that. This is far colder than anything we've ever had to deal with. And I don't know if I'll be able to get any sleep in this place.

Zeppina seems to be on the same wavelength as me, practically voicing my very thoughts. "We should probably sit side by side. It will make both of us more vulnerable, but..."

"You'd rather not freeze to death," I say, and she nods. "Neither would I. You get some sleep. I'll take first watch."

The sound of the anthem blaring throughout the arena jerks me from my thoughts. Zeppina quickly sits up beside me, still a little delirious from sleep. We both look up towards the sky as the Capitol crest appears, and we wait to see the faces of the Fallen.

I'm surprised by the first picture that flashes. I don't know his name, just that he is the other male tribute from District Two. It's not often that a Career dies in the bloodbath.

"Well that's helpful," Zeppina mutters from beside me. "Now if only the rest of them would die, we'd be golden."

I feel terrible about the small tug of relief in my stomach at the fact that one of the Careers is dead. I wish I didn't agree with her words, but in a battle of survival, his death can only help me.

The next face that appears is a boy from Three that I don't know. I recognize the next one as Lumen, the girl I had met on the first day of training. Both of the boys from Five flash on screen. That means everyone from Four made it. Eleven Careers out of Twelve are still out there. It's a terrifying thought. The only face to show from Six is the other female tribute. I turn to see Zeppina's reaction.

She just shrugs, showing no outward sign of emotion when the girl's face is displayed. "She didn't have much of a chance. Her own shadow made her jump," she says in a casual voice.

After that comes a girl from Seven. That means both boys⎯-two Capitol favorites⎯-made it through. I'll have to watch out for them. Next is a boy from Eight. I feel a pang of sadness when I realize that it's the face of one of the twelve year olds. It's not fair that he doesn't get to go home. One of the girls from Eight appears on screen. Must have been the one the Careers killed because the next face that flashes is a boy from Nine. I hold my breath when I realize that this is Barden's district. I silently pray that he's not dead, but the momentary comfort I feel when his face doesn't appear quickly vanishes. The face of Collis appears in the sky, followed by Thalia. The anthem ends, and the sky fades into blackness, and I suddenly feel like crying. But I won't. I can't cry in front of all of Panem. I can't show them weakness.

"Were you close to them?" comes Zeppina's airy voice from beside me. Can she read the change of emotion on my face even in the dark?

I swallow shakily, moving my head left to right. "No, I barely knew them," I say quietly.

I don't know why I'm so upset over this, but I can feel the emotion lodged in my throat, and it won't go away. Two kids from my district are dead. Just last night they had been sleeping down the hall from me, smiling as our mentors congratulated us, eating the stupid fancy Capitol food, and now they're dead. I may not have known them or felt any attachment to them but someone out there did. Their families back in District Twelve did, and now they'll never get to see them again.

"Barden's still out there," Zeppina says, interrupting my thoughts. "We can start looking for him tomorrow."

I nod somberly at her words. I'm incredibly relieved that Barden is still alive, and not just because I'm relying on him and this alliance. I'm relieved because he deserves more than this, he doesn't deserve to die in this arena.

I mentally go over the list of the people who are left. All of the Careers minus the boy from Two have survived. Cato, Mace, Nerissa. They're all still out there, which means I may still be a target. A painful knot forms in my stomach as I continue counting. The crazy girl from Five that I remember from the reaping is still out there. Both male tributes from Six and Zeppina. Both boys and the other girl from Seven are also left, as is one boy and one girl from Eight. That means the other twelve year old survived the first day. Both girls and Barden are still alive from Nine. Everyone from Ten and Eleven. That means the rat-faced boy is still out there. That comes as a surprise to me. Being from the outer districts, they usually go pretty early in the Games, most of their tributes dying in the bloodbath. The only other person left is Karn. I can't help but wonder what he's doing, where he's hiding.

Zeppina moves to rest her back against one of the rocks. "I can take over for you. I've gotten enough sleep."

I mumble a quiet agreement before lying down on my side. I pull the knife from my boot and clutch it tightly in my hand in case of an attack. I'm dead tired, and I can already feel my eyelids drooping shut. I briefly wonder if everyone is proud of me for surviving the first day⎯-if Mr. Fairbain, Mabel, Katniss, Effie, Peeta, and Haymitch are happy. The last thought that fills my mind before sleep pulls me under is that Amelia and my mother would have been.

My eyes snap open when the sound of a cannon fills the air. I sit up quickly, the hand clutching the knife instinctively reaching out in a flash of panic. I whip my head around towards Zeppina, checking to make sure that she's okay, and that we aren't in any immediate danger. Zeppina stares at the sky, unharmed. Seconds tick by and nothing happens. I slowly exhale as I regain my bearings.

When my heart rate finally slows down, I wonder whom the cannon was for. I'm once again aware of the fact that Barden is still missing, and that the cannon could have been for him. I really hope it wasn't. Maybe the odds are in our favor, and it was for one of the Careers. A little wishful thinking never hurt.

I turn to ask Zeppina who she thought it belonged to, but stop when I see the frown marring her features as she looks up towards the sky. I follow her gaze, my own lips tugging down. I hadn't noticed thanks to my panic induced state, but the temperature has dropped even lower than last night, and the sunshine from yesterday has been replaced with a dull gray sky. Storm clouds have formed, creating large foreboding masses, and I know that it will begin to snow soon. _A lot_.

"We should probably get moving," Zeppina says, eyes flickering over towards the mountain. "We don't want to be here if there's a storm. It could cause an avalanche."

I give her a quick nod. Even if it weren't snowing, I'd probably suggest that we move. It's been too quiet since the bloodbath ended. The Capitol people are no doubt becoming restless over their lack of entertainment. Slowly, I move to stand. My body is a little sore from sleeping on the jagged ground, and my face burns from the cold and the wind. My lips are dry and cracked, and my throat is scratchy from lack of water. We need to drink something, or we'll get sick from dehydration for sure. My movements are sluggish as I make my way towards the side of the lake. I can only hope that the others are as affected by the cold as I am.

Zeppina comes and joins me on the bank to get some water. "Any idea where we should go next?"

I shake my head, surveying the area for someplace we could go that would keep us away from the other tributes. "The mountains over here are out. It's too dangerous to climb, especially with the storm coming. The forest is out too. We won't be able to make it to the far side of the arena in time. I don't think we can follow the stream either. The Careers will probably stick close to it because it runs right through the Cornucopia."

"There's a hill over there, " Zeppina says, sitting back and pointing to the far side of the lake. "It's about a mile out from the edge of the water, and we'll be closer to the Cornucopia, but the land seemed a lot steadier, and we'll be above the valley. We'll be able to see anyone coming."

I follow her gaze, debating her suggestion. There's no doubt that there will be more tributes around the area, but it seems like the only viable option unless we want to stay here or attempt to cross to the far side of the arena. I don't see what other choice we have. Staying down here will most likely kill us. Plus, the land seems to get greener and more stable as it moves away from the lake. There's likely to be more wildlife, especially as we get closer to the thin forest on the other side. It's probably a way to force us together; all of the cover and food is on one side of the arena, while the lake is on the other. You either have to make the whole trek from end to end or risk going back to the Cornucopia.

"Besides," Zeppina says after a moment. "I think there has to be something on top of the mountains, and it will be an easier climb from there. The arena seems too small otherwise."

"Unless they're trying to force us into fighting. It's kind of hard to avoid the others when we're all stuck in this valley."

Zeppina purses her lips, and gives a small nod. I can tell that the idea makes her uncomfortable, but she's knows that what I've said is most likely true.

I stand up and offer the other girl a hand, pulling her up beside me. "The hill seems like just as good an option as any. We should go now just in case the storm gets worse."

We both know it will.

We have nothing to pack up so we get moving quickly after we eat a small breakfast. It's the same plant from last night, and it tastes just as terrible as it did before. The wind picks up impossibly fast, whipping savagely against us. We have to exert a tremendous effort to keep ourselves moving.

We only stop once on our journey, when we stumble upon another knife lying on the ground. Zeppina takes it, and we keep going. Snow begins to fall about two hours into our journey. I want to laugh at the irony of the arena. It reminds me so much of the day that Snow announced the Quarter Quell⎯-the snow just as thick and heavy as it had been that day, smothering everything in sight. The flakes are large and the furious wind makes it difficult to see anything in the blur of white. Fear creeps up inside me at the idea of not seeing⎯-of not knowing what's out there

"How far do you think we are?" I yell over to Zeppina.

She squints, trying to see through the haze of snow. I think that she yells back saying that she is unsure, but the wind drowns out her voice, making it nearly impossible for me to hear when she asks me if I can see where we are.

I take a quick glance around the area, but it's impossible to see anything clearly. "I don't know, but we should be⎯-"

I stop speaking and freeze in place, reaching out a hand to stop my partner from moving.

"What's wrong?"

I wave a hand in her direction, and narrow my eyes, trying to get a better look when I see a flash of something moving. With the wind and the snow, it looks like nothing more than a green blob. Under other circumstances, I would easily shrug it off, thinking it nothing more than a small tree, or something of the like. But the furious beating of my heart has me on high alert.

"We need to get out of here."

Zeppina seems to pick up on the urgency in my voice, because her eyes go wide, flickering in the direction of my gaze. "Why? What is it?"

"There's another tribute here."

The blob moves again, and we both reach for our knives at the same time. We catch each other's eye, deciding to make a run for it, but we never get the chance.

"Briar!"

Something heavy collides with my back, and I collapse painfully onto the ground.

 _What the hell?_

The impact makes me disoriented, and I'm momentarily frozen in fear before the adrenaline starts coursing through me. Someone grabs my ankle from behind, and I kick back with as much force as I can muster, my foot colliding with something hard. I hear a muted grunt of pain over the wind, the person's grip slipping off me with the force of my attack. I roll over and scramble to my feet. Out of the corner of my eye I see Zeppina on the ground with the green blob I had seen before, but I have no time to see who it is because the person who grabbed my leg is running towards me again, ready for another attack. I try to jump out of the way, but there isn't enough time. I'm sent flying to my back, the other tribute on top of me.

It's the crazed girl from Five. Her eyes are mad, and there's a snarl on her face as she tries to pin me down. Fear jolts through me when I realize I have nothing to defend myself with. I dropped my knife somewhere the first time she knocked me down. I wince from the force she's putting on me, but she's too small to completely keep me down. I yank one arm from her grasp, and punch her in the face as hard as I can from this position. Her head rears to the side with a sickening crack, and I jerk under her, trying to throw her off. She falls to the side of me, holding her face. I can see the red staining the snow as I frantically roll away and scan for my knife. She isn't done though. She comes at me again, letting out an inhuman scream when I narrowly dodge her next attack. I can see the distinctive black hilt of the knife sticking out of the snow, and I hurriedly pull myself to my feet, running towards it.

I reach for it just as she lunges at me again, tackling me to the ground. All the air leaves my lungs in a painful hiss, and I can't breathe, but I don't stop fighting back. The only thing on my mind is survival, my brain chanting the word in a never-ending loop. I grab her by the shoulders and force her to the side, but her grip on me is tight, and we end up rolling over a couple times as we both try to gain the upper hand. Her elbow collides with my ribs, and I let out a pained grunt. Her leg pins down my hand holding the knife, and I can't get it free no matter how hard I try. One of my legs is free though, and I bring it up quickly, kneeing her in the stomach. She cries out, and her grip loosens enough for me to pull it from her grasp.

Her fist collides with my face just as I stab the knife into her side. Pain blossoms in my skull. My teeth clench together, tearing through my cheek and causing blood to fill my mouth. She screeches as the metal slides into her flesh, and I feel sick as I watch the anguish fill her mad eyes. I yank the knife from her body and roll over when she falls heavily onto the ground. I hastily spit out the blood onto the snow. Everything is fuzzy thanks to her punch, and I barely register what's going on around me.

I stagger slightly as I pull myself to my feet, trying to prepare myself for another attack from the girl from Five. It never comes though. There's nothing but a stain of red where she had been laying. I hazily scan the area for her, but my vision is blurry from the hit and the snow, and I can't find her anywhere.

I'm distracted when I distantly hear the sound of Zeppina screaming. I spin around, and I squint my eyes in the direction of the noise. She's on her back a couple yards away from me, the green figure standing over her, ready to take the kill shot. Panic rips through me at the sight, and I try to run to her, but I know I won't be fast enough. The tribute brings their arm down, but it stops about a foot above Zeppina's chest. I gasp as I watch the tip of a sword thrust through the person only to be yanked back, the small figure collapsing into a heap. A cannon booms from somewhere above.

The person wielding the sword stands still for a moment, and I'm poised to throw my knife in case they try anything. But instead of attacking, the figure lowers their sword to the side and extends a hand out to Zeppina. Confusion fills me as she takes the hand and allows herself to be pulled up. I stay where I am, still holding my knife out.

The pair turns to me, staring for a moment before the unknown figure yells, "Are you okay, Briar? Are you hurt?"

 _Barden_.

The relief that fills me is so overwhelming that I barely notice my legs carrying me towards them. He's alive. And he just saved Zeppina's life.

She's alive.

I'm alive.

"Did you hear me, Briar?" Barden asks when I stop in front of them.

"I'm fine," I say, but a wince leaves my mouth despite the words. My mouth is still bleeding, and even though my jaw is numb, I know it's going to be incredibly sore for the next few days. _If I survive that long_. My body already aches from the physicality of the fight. Barden looks concerned, but I turn my gaze to Zeppina. "Are you alright?"

She gives me a shaky nod, obviously affected by what just happened. My gaze drifts to the body on the ground, the surrounding snow soaked in the blood from his wound. I feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to throw up as I look at the body. It's the rat-faced boy from Ten. The adrenaline running through my veins is wearing off, and I'm left with a feeling of horror and guilt. He's dead: his face blank and his body lifeless. My mind flashes with images of Barden's sword protruding from his chest, and I'm suddenly aware of the bloody knife in my hand. I stabbed someone. I could have killed her. I might have killed her.

 _No. She has to be alive._ There was only one cannon. But still, I didn't even hesitate to do it. The rational part of my brain knows that she would have killed me, but it's drowned out by the remorse I feel. It's wrong. _So, so wrong_. She's trying to survive just like me.

I can't bear to be here any more. I take a step back from the corpse, trying to fight the bile rising in my throat. "We need to go. The hovercraft will be coming to get the body."

I wipe the blood from the knife on my pants and place it back in my boot. The three of us take off in the direction of the hill, leaving the lifeless boy behind. I trudge in silence for a while, Zeppina and Barden having their own conversation. I welcome the quiet. I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone. It's getting more and more difficult to see as we go, and I put all of my energy into pushing through the harsh conditions and checking for any other tributes.

My body radiates a feeling I can't quite name; some mixture of shock and anger that has my hands continuously clenching and unclenching as we walk. It's too much to think about, these Games. Watching them year after year, watching children die at the hands of other children has always left me feeling embittered. But being here⎯-experiencing the terror and death first hand-⎯everything is magnified. I already feel like I'm fraying under the pressure.

Barden laughs quietly as we walk."That was a close one. One more second and you would've been a goner. Good thing these things are so pointy."

I round on him in a second, a harsh look overcoming my previously somber features. "What's your problem?" I hiss. "That kid is _dead_. They're sending a hovercraft over there to get his body so that they can ship it back home in a _coffin_. There's nothing to laugh about."

I don't understand what's come over me: why I'm getting so worked up over what's happened. I have no affection for the rat-faced boy, and I certainly have none for the girl that tried to kill me. But I can't stand to hear him laughing it off while I feel like I'm drowning in the reality of it all. People are dead, and he's acting like nothing ever happened.

Both Zeppina and Barden looked startled by my outburst. His face quickly becomes solemn as he flounders for something to say.

"How can you be so unaffected? We almost died!" I know that I look and sound hysterical, but I feel like I've lost control over my actions.

Barden looks down at me, and I scowl at the understanding that crosses his features. "I'm not unaffected, Briar," he says softly. There's no defensiveness in his voice, only sympathy and resignation. "I've just come to terms with this," he says with a gesture towards the arena. "I can't change it. What's the point of getting hung up on it? People are going to have to die. It's not like I wanted to do it, but he would have tried to kill you two if I didn't."

He holds my gaze the entire time he speaks, and I slowly feel the anger drain out of me. I know that he's right. No good can come from me getting so emotional over this. If I really want to win, I can't get caught up on the inevitable. Forty-six people are going to have to die, and the sooner I learn to live with that, the better chance I'll have of surviving.

I sigh and give him an apologetic look. "You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"No worries," he says, giving me his trademark smile and throwing an arm over both Zeppina and my shoulders as we continue walking. "So, where are we heading?"

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **DUNDUNDUN... AND THE ARENA HAS BEGUN. So excited for this to finally be posted. I know it took awhile to get here, so thanks for hanging in there with me :)**

 **TheHungryRainbow: I would be too XD Crowds are not my thing**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: I figured the score would probably be relatively predictable. I played around with the idea of her scoring lower, but in the end, there were many reasons why I found it necessary that she be as capable as she is.**

 **WhiteEevee: Phew, glad you like the stuff about Katniss and Peeta. I was really worried about adding that and figuring what's too much and what's not enough. This chapter was a serious struggle to write, from the training room to the clothes to the interview. Seriously... it usually takes me about two days to write a chapter, but I think this one took over a week. It was too stressful lol**

 **Hope you guys liked it! Let me know what you think!**


	10. Chapter 9: Down to the Wire

**Chapter 9: Down to the Wire**

As Zeppina had predicted, the hill is a safe choice to hide out. It takes us about another three hours to walk after we leave the lake, but we are fortunate enough not to run into anyone else. The snow stops falling about halfway through our trek, and the sky once again becomes clear and bright. It definitely made traveling easier, but I can't stop my eyes from narrowing at the change in weather¾it only began to clear up the closer we got to the Cornucopia, and by extension, the Careers.

I inspect the area when we finally stop walking, all of us deciding it best to take a small break so that we don't tire ourselves out. Like the area near the Cornucopia, the land is green, various small plants and trees growing from the ground. It's a welcome change from the rugged terrain near the lake, the only downside being that there appears to be no water, unless we want to venture to the stream. Of course, none of us are stupid enough to suggest such a thing. From where we are on the mountain, I can easily make out several figuresI count four, guessing the other seven are out hunting— surrounding the ice block that is the Cornucopia. Even with the reduced numbers, you'd have to be a complete idiot to go anywhere near there. The Careers are guarding "their" supplies closely. Two of them are hacking away at it, but from what I can see, they have yet to break in and procure the desired items. A small smirk lights my features. Good. Maybe now they'll know what likes for the rest of us.

"So what exactly took you so long?" Zeppina asks Barden, who like me, is busy surveying our temporary rest spot.

I turn to look at him as well. I'm curious about where he's been. It took him almost twenty-four hours to find us. I don't think Barden is the type of person who would trick us or betray us, and he did save Zeppina's life, but I can't help but wonder what he'd been doing that whole time. Though, I wouldn't put it past him to be going around the arena making friends with the other tributes. _Ha!_ That'd be something new. I wonder what the Gamemakers would do with that.

The boy in question gives a small shrug and rubs at the back of his neck. "I went into the Cornucopia…or to it, at least." I give him a look of disbelief. Why anyone would ever stick around there purposely is beyond me. "The sword was right in front of me, and it didn't seem like any of the tributes around me would be much of a threat, so I went for it." For a second I regret asking him to be in an alliance. He must be crazy.

"But that didn't hold you up for the whole day," Zeppina says dryly, her eyebrows practically disappearing into her hairline as the words leave her mouth. She thinks he's just as insane as I do.

"Well, no," he says, glancing down to the sword at his side. "I got in a fight with the boy from Two."

I'm about to ask him if he means Cato, but then I remember the face from the sky last night, the other boy that I never learned the name of. I almost wish it had been Cato, but something tells me that no matter how strong Barden is, he wouldn't be standing here with us right now if it had been.

"He came at me pretty strong. I mean like really hard, but I managed to kill him before he could get me."

He looks at me after he says the last part, as if he's expecting me to yell at him again. It makes me feel a little bad about my behavior before.

"Better him than you," I say, sending him a small smile. I mean it, too. It may be cold, but I'm glad that Barden managed to kill the boy. His death will make everything easier for us. Unless of course, the Careers now want to target Barden not only because he got a good score, but because he killed one of their own. Looking over him now, I can see that he has a large cut on his cheek, and his jacket has another slice in it, but it doesn't go all the way through. He also has a fat lip, but he seems otherwise unharmed.

"That doesn't explain why it you didn't find us until this morning," Zeppina says, still waiting for further explanation.

Barden throws his pack to the ground, and I eye it curiously. I hadn't even noticed he had one on him. He's just full of surprises. I don't ask about it yet though. I still want to know the answer to Zeppina's question.

"I booked it out of the Cornucopia as soon as I could, but there was no way that I would have caught up to you. If you hadn't noticed, you run pretty fast," he says with a quick glance over to me. "I had no idea where you guys went. My money was on the lake, but I couldn't risk crossing the valley while the Careers were still going at it. So I stayed on one of the mountains. Across the way, over there," he says, pointing at the mountain opposite of us. "I started looking for you when the sun went down and the Careers decided to take a rest, but it was slow moving considering I couldn't see much. Plus, I'm not much of a fan of the dark."

I raise my eyebrows at him, processing his words. "And you just stumbled upon us? Just like that?"

He shrugs. "Pretty much, yeah. You guys were right at the front of the lake. I didn't have to walk much."

Zeppina and I both nod at his words. He seems to be telling the truth, and the arena isn't exactly that big. It's a plausible story, but I still remind myself to be careful around him¾around both of them. This isn't the place for blind trust.

Another part of his story catches my interest. If he is being honest, and he really did spend the night in the mountains that means the arena is bigger than I thought. There might be something up there: food, somewhere to hide or make shelter. It's a possibility I have to explore. I don't want to spend any more time than I need to in this valley.

"So the mountains were safe to climb? You didn't run into any animals or muttations? Or the force field?"

He shakes his head in the negative, and Zeppina and I look at each other. "If the mountains are open territory, we should head up there," I say to my two allies. "The farther away we can get from the Cornucopia, the better. And since there's snow up there, we won't have to worry about water."

Zeppina looks up towards the sky before turning back to us. "We should go now, before it gets dark."

Barden and I both agree. We start our trek up the mountain after Barden picks up his pack, and I once again find myself staring at it. Did he get it in the Cornucopia? Does it have any food in it? Maybe I should have stuck around a little longer. Zeppina got a hat, and Barden got that sword and some type of pack. All I have is my knife. No, doing anything but run away as fast as I could would have been stupid. They both got attacked while I got out unscathed. Yes, leaving was the best choice. Still though, I want to know what he has.

"Hey, Barden. What's in your pack?"

He glances over at me. I seem to have caught him in a daydream. "What? Oh, this?" He asks looking over his shoulder at the bag strapped to his back. "It's a thermal sleeping bag."

Both Zeppina and I stop walking and stare intently at him. He turns and looks at us, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. I bet we look comical, staring at the boy with our mouths hanging open and disbelief filling our eyes. _Maybe I_ should _have stayed at the Cornucopia._

"What?" He questions, glancing between us with a confused look. "Did I say something wrong?"

Zeppina is practically spluttering. "Where did you get that? I didn't see them at the Cornucopia."

"I didn't get it there. I got it last night, from sponsors."

His tone is nonchalant. Both Zeppina and I continue to stare in astonishment. Sponsors? He got that as a sponsor gift on the first night? It's…it's unbelievable. The gift itself is surprising enough. Thermal sleeping bags are expensive. _Very expensive_. But the fact that he received such a generous gift on the first night…I'm starting to think my comparison to Finnick Odair wasn't too far off. The people in the Capitol must love Barden for him to get a gift like that this early in the Games. It must have been one hell of a fight with the boy from Two. The sponsors must really want him to survive. Not only is he charming and reasonably attractive, but he's now proven that his score wasn't a fluke by taking out one of the Careers. Relief once again fills me. Thank god he's on my side. It's almost impossible to win against people with this much support.

"Why are you both looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?" he says with a small frown.

Unbelievable! The kid's got sponsors crawling out the woodwork for him, and he doesn't even notice how popular he is. Or maybe he's just a really good actor, pretending to be naïve and goofy for the cameras. It makes me wonder if all of Panem is watching us right now. The Gamemakers will want to keep the Capitol favorites on screen as much as possible, and after the fight this morning, they're probably curious about our progress. If that's the case, Barden's doing a great job of selling himself to the people. A larger part of me thinks he's being genuine, though. Maybe it's because he reminds me of Peeta and someone else I don't want to name. Everything I've seen from him in the Capitol and the arena indicates that he's not faking for the sake of sponsors. But, it doesn't matter whether or not he has a clue about how popular he is so long as it doesn't come back to haunt me later.

I laugh lightly at his confused but now smiling expression and shake my head at him. Charming, indeed. "It's nothing, Barden. Just keep walking."

—

The climb up the mountain is difficult. The oxygen grows thinner and the air becomes colder as we steadily ascend. The quickly fading sun does little to quell our shivers. It's a good thing I ate so much in the Capitol; at least I put on some extra weight to protect me from the cold. If only I had gotten to eat like the Careers for my whole life, then I'd be able to handle this much better.

I can hear Zeppina and Barden trudging behind me, their heavy breathing lingering in the silent arena. It makes me nervous, how quiet everything is. Silence is never a good thing in the Games. It means there's no action, and no action means that the people in the Capitol are bored. And if the people get bored, it means that the Gamemakers are going to make something happen.

 _Please let them go after the Careers._

I'm not up for another fight. The numbness in my jaw has begun to wear off even in the chilly air. Pain radiates from where I'm sure there's a blotchy bruise forming on my face, but thankfully my mouth stopped bleeding a while ago. The inside feels raw though, and I'm sure that it will start again even from the most minor of prompting. Breathing has become quite the task as well. The thin air is forcing me to suck in as much as I can, but the deep breaths make my ribs throb uncomfortably. It's too bad the snow didn't do more to break my fall. I'll probably have to deal with the pain for the rest of my time in the arena.

The sound of a cannon booming temporarily pulls me out of my musings. We all look around the area, making sure that we are still alone, but there's nothing here. I can't see much in the valley from here either. Everything looks shrunken, like tiny bugs crawling around in a cage. It's impossible to tell whom the cannon was for, but them being the victim of the Careers is pretty safe bet.

That cannon makes fifteen tributes dead in the first two days. The terrible relief hits me again, but I push any thoughts of regret out of my mind. This is good for me. nine more people to go, and the first arena will be over. I've not only managed to survive the first night, but I've also survived my first fight in the arena. Hopefully sponsors will think that I can at least handle myself a little. I was taken by surprise and managed to get the upper hand. She had to flee because she was injured. That has to count for something. And now with Barden on my team¾him being an early favorite and all¾I'll look even better to the sponsors.

I let my mind drift to my mentors. I bet Haymitch is glad I asked for an alliance now. I let myself feel a brief pang of sadness for Katniss and Peeta and the tributes they lost. I don't dwell on that though, I'm still too focused on not dying. I wonder if they're all busy trying to get me sponsors¾and Karn too I guess, since he's still alive. Or was one of the cannons for him? It's too bad I'm not as popular as Barden. If I were, maybe Haymitch would send me some food, or a thermal sleeping bag, or something to stop my face from getting frostbite. I'd take anything, I'm not feeling too picky at the moment. At this point, I'd even take some supplies from District Twelve.

Thinking about my district makes me think of Mr. Fairbain and Mabel, and even my father for a brief moment. I don't spare him much thought. I doubt he really cares about what's going on. Mabel probably isn't watching right now, unless she's gotten out of school already. If she is in class, I'm sure that she's getting updates every once in a while. It's what we always do during the Games. Everyone else, even those who are working, are most likely watching. Maybe it's out of some type of morbid curiosity, but we all still follow the Games closely, even if we hate them. What happened in last year's Games only made them more interesting, and I'm sure that most people will be watching to see if anything changes again this year. It's easy to imagine the look on Mabel's face when the crazed girl from Five attacked me. She's always been particularly sensitive to any type of violence. She was a mess when Johanna Mason turned out to have quite the proclivity for killing. She probably cried for me. Mr. Fairbain was no doubt stoic throughout the whole fight. It's one of the things I admire most about him, his ability to stay in control no matter the circumstance. It's something I could definitely have used when I was yelling at Barden.

I cringe when I think back on the incident. I shouldn't have said anything, no matter what I think about the Games. Even the most minor thing could set the Gamemakers off. If they don't think I'll act like a good little tribute, if they think I'm trying to point out the flaws in their system, they'll get rid of me for sure. Avalanche, muttations, meteors; they'll find some way to kill me, and it won't be pretty. Saying something like that with so much tension in the districts— rumors or not—was a careless thing to do. There are cameras everywhere in the arena, and even with the storm, I have no doubt that one of them picked up on our conversation. Haymitch probably wants to kill me himself for doing something so reckless. I wonder what the people in my district and the others thought of my words. The more I think about it, the more I doubt that they even heard the conversation. The Gamemakers probably blocked it out. They wouldn't want me ruining the illusion that this is all good fun.

Not that it matters much. I might start starving to death before they have a chance to kill me. I'm used to functioning on less than sufficient resources, but that can only last so long. I chuckle darkly to myself. How ironic would that be? I manage to fight off starvation for sixteen years in District Twelve only to die from it in the Hunger Games. How many people has it happened to? How many have actually died from hunger in the Hunger Games? I doubt there's been many, and I'm determined not to add my name to that list. Of course, that involves me actually finding something to eat. The land we are walking on is still green. We haven't managed to reach the snowcaps of the mountain yet, but we're getting close. If we saw something, I'm sure we could make a snare and catch it, but there still aren't many signs of life. There doesn't appear to a water source, so few animals aren't likely to stick around the area. I really don't want to travel back into the valley, but unless we find something, or get some sponsor gifts, we might have to. The sun is beginning to go down too. We have to think of something fast.

Maybe Barden has an idea. I don't remember him being particularly good at survival skills, but he had to have eaten at some point since the bloodbath because based on the way he scarfed food down in the Training Center, he'd probably be starving by now without it. The only question is where did he get the food? I wait to ask the question though, saving it for when we reach our final destination. We need to get closer to the snow: closer to water. Maybe they'll even be some animals up there. The thought keeps me going even though I want nothing more than to collapse onto the ground and let my body rest. The pain in my head has increased to a steady pounding, probably from both the fight and lack of water, and my body feels like lead, like my blood has frozen into ice and is weighing me down. But I've dealt with worse pain before, so I push through. I spare a quick glance to my allies. They both seem tired as well. Zeppina is walking with a slight limp, and she's got the starting of a black eye. Aside from Barden's panting, he seems relatively okay. The cut on his face seems to be healing, which comes as a huge relief. Infection is usually deadly in the arena. Not everyone gets fancy sponsor gifts like Katniss and Peeta did last year. On second thought, I'm sure Barden's sponsors would send him whatever it he needs. I heave out a sigh and continue walking.

It takes us another two hours before we come to a stop about two hundred yards from the top of the mountain. Some of the land is still tinged with green, but there are patches of snow interspersed throughout the area, until you go up about another hundred feet. The snow blankets the peak of the mountain in layer upon layer of the white substance. We decide to make camp where we are. I scan the area quickly, making sure that it's safe. Aside from spotting the Careers from the hill, we haven't seen any tributes since this morning. The spot seems relatively peaceful. Nothing seems to stand out as dangerous, and we've definitely moved far enough away from the Cornucopia. There's snow for water, and it's not like the lack of wildlife is much different than the other areas we've passed. Like by the lake last night, I recognize some of smaller shrubs, and we've passed a couple small animals on our way up. We can make do with those if we have to.

"How's everyone holding up?" comes Barden's voice from behind me. He's sitting down on his sleeping bag, looking unconcerned as he tries to return his breathing to normal. He's the picture of serenity, and if I let my mind forget about the Games for a second, I'd be able to convince myself that this was just a normal day, that we're just three people relaxing on some mountain back in Twelve. But it's impossible to forget the Games. I'm scared, and cold, and my body aches, and Barden's nonchalance makes no sense to me.

I collapse gracelessly onto the ground beside him. "I'd be a lot better if I didn't feel like I'd been tackled repeatedly and punched in the face," I mutter dryly.

Barden chuckles and looks up towards the darkening sky as Zeppina takes a seat on his other side. She grumbles softly from her spot. "I hate the cold."

The bitterness in her voice makes me snort lightly. "You and probably everyone else in the arena." I've never particularly minded winter, I actually enjoy the feeling of the crisp air at times, but this is a little much, even for me. I'd be willing to bet that even the Careers aren't happy. Maybe some of them will freeze to death.

"It could be worse," Barden says. "It could be snowing again, or there could be an avalanche, or we could be in a volcano or something." Both Zeppina and I raise an eyebrow at him. "What? It's true. This isn't so bad."

 _Isn't so bad? No, it's not. We're just sitting here, hoping we don't die in the next few days. Not bad at all._ If I didn't like Barden so much, I'd probably kill him for being so nonchalant about the whole thing. Then I could have his sleeping bag. I inwardly sigh. But, he's too charming for me to even pretend I don't like him.

"Though, it would be better if we had something to eat," Barden says. "I'm starting to get pretty hungry."

I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on top. "Yeah, well, they seem to have traded food for an abundance of snow. I don't think there's much to eat anywhere. There doesn't seem to be too many of those little rodent things around."

Barden frowns slightly. "Wait, have you guys not eaten at all? What did you do last night?"

"Briar found some plant," Zeppina says, her face scrunching up into a look of disgust as she recalls the memory. "It was terrible."

"At least I found something. Better than starving," I mumble.

Barden laughs lightly. "That's unfortunate. I've never been a fan of vegetables. Or anything green really."

I look over at the boy beside me, my lips tugging down and my brows furrowing. "What did you eat then?"

"Some soup. It came with the bag."

I roll my eyes and huff slightly. Of course, should have seen that one coming. I hope one of the cameras catches the scowl on my face. My stomach is uncomfortably empty, and I really wish that Haymitch would send me something to eat. I mean, I have to have some sponsors right? Effie and Haymitch said that the Capitol likes me, loves me even, but maybe they were wrong. Maybe all of my interest has been transferred somewhere else now that I'm nowhere near Cato. Maybe they're getting bored with me. That can't be right though, I'm sure that I have at least a few sponsors. Hopefully Haymitch is just saving it for a time I really need it. If that's the case, I can't be angry with him. It's only been a day, and if I can't make it this far without complaining, I don't deserve to win. I've gone longer than this without eating a real meal, though none of those situations also included me trying not get murdered by a group of survival driven teenagers.

"You guys were pretty good at setting up snares. Why didn't you try one of those?"

Both Zeppina and I turn to Barden at the question. I'm sure my face matches her incredulous expression. "And what supplies do you suggest we do that with?" Zeppina drawls out, making a sweeping gesture towards the empty space around us.

I let out a snort, and Barden sends us a sheepish grin. "Oh, right." He purses his lips, and his look becomes thoughtful. "Maybe we could ask for some."

I think my eyebrows have become permanently stuck in their raised position. Ask for some… like it's that easy? Does he have any idea how the Games work? Apparently he doesn't, because he rises from his seat and begins walking around.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for a camera," he says as if it should be obvious.

Zeppina and I share a look before she turns back to Barden and points to somewhere to her right. "There's one there, by that plant."

Sure enough, I spot movement, the camera turning and zooming in and out to catch Barden's movements. Barden sends her a smile, and walks towards it. He bends down, placing his face directly in front the camera before speaking. "Um, I don't know if anyone's listening, but if you are… we'd be really grateful if we could get some wire?" He glances back at us and gives a small shrug of his shoulders. We both stare at him in astonishment.

He can't be serious right now. People are lucky to get any sponsor gifts at all. No one ever asks for them, it's completely insane.

But a few minutes later, my thoughts are cut off by the sound of beeping coming from somewhere above me. We all look up towards the sky, where a small silver parachute with the number nine emboldened hovers in the air. I blink rapidly, my brain trying to process the image. The package lands a few feet behind Barden, who turns back to the camera with a wide grin.

"Thanks. We really appreciate it."

I can't do anything but sit with my mouth hanging open. It's impossible! Things like this don't happen in the Games. You don't ask for gifts and then actually get them. I mean, maybe if you're Finnick Odair, but... I shake my head in disbelief. I don't know how Barden isn't going to win this thing. He's got the Capitol in the palm of his hand.

Barden makes his way over the parachute and pops it open. I can't help but smirk slightly when the coil of wire falls out onto the ground followed by a flint. Yes, Haymitch must be glad I asked for an alliance.

Barden looks far too pleased with himself as he gathers the wire in his hands. He turns to Zeppina and I, the grin practically splitting his face. "Now, which one of you wants to set the snare?"

—

A few hours later, the sky has completely turned to darkness. Barden and I sit around quietly in our makeshift camp, waiting for Zeppina to return from checking the snares. In the end, it had been her who made them while Barden and I discussed what we should do in the morning. We had contemplated the risk of making them in such open terrain, but we haven't seen or heard anyone in hours.

Both Barden and I jump slightly at the sound of someone approaching, but we relax quickly when we realize that it's Zeppina. I can't stop the small laugh that bubbles from my throat as I watch her walk to us. Her face is the picture of repulsion; wire in one hand and the other one fully extending from her body as she carries our prize. She stops a few feet in front of us, her nose wrinkling in disgust as she looks at the animal in her hand.

"This is all we got," she mutters with distaste.

It's a large rodent, the same one I had seen last night and earlier today. It's a little bigger than a rabbit, and it looks hideous. But then again, I've seen far worse animals back in District Twelve. I'm sure the meat will taste fine just the same. And even if it doesn't, bad tasting meat is better than no meat.

It's Barden's turn to laugh at the girl in front of us. "At least we got something. I'd eat anything at this point. Even you."

I roll my eyes at the boy. "I'd like to see you try," I say before turning to Zeppina. "Here, give it to me. I can skin it and cut it up." They both give me a surprised look. "What? I already told you that I worked in a butcher shop back home."

Zeppina's eyes narrow as she casts one last glance at the animal before she passes it over to me. I borrow Zeppina's knife¾ mine is contaminated with the blood of the girl from Five¾and set to work. The task brings me a sense of calm that I haven't felt since before entering the arena¾ since before being reaped. It's familiar, and I am confident with each cut I make. It's the first time since the gong as sounded that I've felt sure in what I'm doing, that I've felt connected to my life back home. This is my element. I hope the people back in the Capitol are watching, seeing that I'm good at this¾ that I can take care of myself.

I catch glimpses of my two allies as I work, both of them watching the process with curiosity. I chuckle when I catch the look on Barden and Zeppina's faces as I peel away the animal's skin and chuck it to side.

The corner of my mouth lifts into a small smirk. "Are you guys okay over there?"

They're both staring wide-eyed at the now bare rodent, and I can tell they're a little grossed out by all of this. It only makes me smirk more.

"How do you work with this stuff?" Barden asks, his forehead wrinkling as he watches me cut.

His question reminds me of the conversation I had with Mr. Fairbain the day before the Reaping. It makes my throat tighten slightly, and I push the memory from my mind. I shrug in response, keeping my focus on the animal in front of me. "It takes some getting used to, I guess. The smell of blood still bothers me, but you learn to deal. It's not so bad after awhile."

Zeppina's quiet voice speaks up from across from me. "How long have you been doing this?"

I pause momentarily before resuming my work. A multitude of answers fill my head. Since my mother and my sister died. Since my father didn't care enough to try and support us both. Since it became clear that I would starve to death if I didn't. I don't say any of those out loud.

"Since I was eleven."

She's watching me intently, no doubt analyzing me and trying to decipher what remains unsaid. I give nothing away, keeping my face as neutral as possible under her scrutiny. All of that is irrelevant now. The only thing that matters is surviving the Games.

We lapse back into silence while I continue butchering the meat. Cutting the rest of the animal is relatively easy. All the meat appears to be uncontaminated, and it pulls away from the bone easily. I smile slightly at my work. Most of it is usable, which means we'll be eating well tonight. I don't know what the animal is though, and I don't want to risk eating it raw. Eating meat that's meant to be cooked can cause serious problems, and in the arena, it would most likely kill us. It's definitely not how I plan on going.

"I need one of you to light a fire," I say, turning to my allies.

Zeppina's lips press into a firm line. "I don't know if that's a good idea. Someone will definitely see a fire at this point. We'd be drawing the Careers right to us."

I acknowledge that she's right, for the most part at least. A fire at night is reckless, and it usually ends with you getting killed by the bloodthirsty tributes that go out hunting. My mind conjures up images of Peeta's art: his painting of the small girl from last year who was stupid enough to light a fire on the first night. She made herself an easy target for the Careers. I shiver at the thought of meeting Mace or Cato in the arena because of such a careless mistake. But at this point, I think a small fire might be safe. The chances of the Careers scaling the entire mountain in the dark just to get a single tribute are slim, and if it attracts any other wayward tributes¾well, there are three of us, and we're all armed.

"I know it's a risk," I say, "but I don't think we have much of a choice. None of us know what this animal is, or what kind of diseases it could carry. We'd be risking just as much if we tried to eat it raw."

Both Zeppina and Barden look thoughtful at my words. I can tell that she's still not completely comfortable with the idea, but I know that I've won when she let's out a sigh.

"Fine, but the fire goes out as soon as soon as the meat is cooked." Her tone brokers no argument, not that Barden or I would try and give her one.

I give her a quick nod. "Of course."

Barden picks up the flint from the empty parachute canister and sets to making a fire. It's easy to make with the flint, and despite the snow, the grass is dry enough for the flame to burn steadily. Thankfully, the wind has calmed down from earlier as well. We cook the meat as quickly as we can, all eager to both eat and put the fire out. I don't think anyone is near us, but I'm not going to test my luck.

We each take a portion of the meat after stamping out the fire, deciding to store the leftovers in the container from the parachute in the event that we don't come across any animals for a while. I don't have anything to preserve it with like I would back home, but the cold temperature should help it last a little longer. We eat in silence, all of us too hungry to focus on anything other than the food. It reminds me a bit of eating a squirrel, and I savor the meat, eating it slowly and allowing the taste to fill my mouth.

Our dinner is interrupted by the sound of the anthem filling the arena. Once again, the Capitol crest fills the sky, the faces of The Fallen flashing for the remaining tributes to see. I feel confusion when the first face appears, but it quickly gives way to regret. It's the mad girl from Five, the one who attacked me this morning. Then comes the laughing rat boy from Ten, and a boy from Eleven that I don't recognize. The anthem fades, and I'm left to my thoughts.

Did I kill her? I'm positive that she was alive when the fight ended, there's no way she could have escaped otherwise. But I did stab her in the side, and I know that the wound was pretty deep. It's an area that doesn't bleed quickly, so it's not usually fatal unless it's left unattended. It would have taken her hours to bleed out and die, especially with the weather being as cold as it is. The thought of her suffering, of bleeding out slowly, makes my stomach churn. _I did this. I killed her._ At the very least, I weakened her enough to make her an easy target for someone else. _It's my fault. She's dead because of me._ The guilt is suffocating. It sits heavy in my chest and lingers no matter how hard I try to push it away.

I can't do this now. I can't let myself think about what I've done, because I know that to make it out of this arena, I'm going to have to do it again.

—

We are left in peace for two whole days. The Careers have managed to hack an opening into the Cornucopia, giving them a no doubt endless amount of valuable supplies. But other than that, nothing of importance has happened. The silence of the arena both confuses and worries me. I'm sure the Careers go hunting everyday, but we've only heard one cannon over the past few days. The Capitol must be getting restless. I'm in a constant state of anxiety, but if I don't let myself look down into the valley of Careers, it actually isn't so bad. The weather has been good, the sun continuing to shine brightly in the sky. I mean, it's still freezing, but it hasn't snowed since the second day, which is a mild improvement. The wind remains strong, burning away at our faces and making it feel colder than it is, but it's more tolerable than the storm. The good weather has allowed us to develop a sense of normalcy, or as much normalcy as we can get during the Games. We've made steady progress towards the forest, having decided it would be the safest place to take cover. Another few hours of walking, and we'll reach it.

We develop a system for carrying our supplies, alternating every time we move locations. We haven't had any more sponsors, but it's only the fourth day, and we aren't in need of much. The availability of weapons seems lower at the top of the mountain, but we've found two more knives and a baton. The snow has been sufficient for water, and the snares continue to be effective, though we don't catch anything other than the same large rodent. None of us complain. Food is food.

I'm thankful for not being alone. It saves me from being stuck with nothing but my own thoughts, which would no doubt be scrambled and guilt-laden. The arena has a way of tearing your mind apart; trapping you within your own thoughts and making you go crazy. I don't want to end up like Annie Cresta, the poor girl who went mad after watching her district partner get beheaded. Barden and Zeppina are a good distraction from the images and scenarios that my mind conjures up. I stick to my word regarding my allies, keeping an eye on both of them as I told Haymitch I would. But I find myself trusting them more and more as the hours go by, or trusting Barden at least. The desire to survive and the constant fear of other tributes have made me feel more reliant on them than I would like. Trust is a dangerous thing in the arena. I'm constantly reminded of Amelia, and I have to make a conscious effort to keep them at a distance.

The sun has barely risen over the horizon, and nothing can be heard but the howling wind. My allies lay asleep a few feet from me, huddled into Barden's sleeping bag. Being the person that he is, Barden has been kind enough to let both Zeppina and I use his thermal blanket. Sharing with her has been fine, but the situation with Barden was a completely different story. To say the first night was awkward would be an understatement. I've never been that close to a boy before, and something tells me that Barden had never been that close to a girl before either. He could barely look Zeppina or me in the eye when he suggested it. Under other circumstances, I would have refused such an offer, but the temperature is numbing at night and embarrassment is no reason to pass up on something that could help keep me alive. Barden's large figure makes it a bit of a tight fit, but it was easier once he decided that sleeping back to back would provide the most room for two people. I think he had really suggested it because he felt nervous. As awkward as it had been, the memory makes me smirk slightly. We're in the middle of the Games, where our lives could be over any second, and he finds time to be awkward because Zeppina and I are girls. I bet the Capitol got a kick out of the whole event. _You're welcome, Haymitch._

The sound of screaming shakes me from my thoughts, and I jump to my feet, whipping my head around rapidly to find the source of the sound. Barden and Zeppina shoot up, both startled by the cries. It's a girl: I can tell by the piercing shrieks of pain she emits. I gulp, and an involuntary shiver runs up my spine. Whatever is happening to her, it's violent and excruciating, and it's all I can do not to cover my ears to drown out the noise. I know her screams will lodge themselves deep in my brain, and will be stuck in my head for days. Her voice echoes loudly in the air. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in the arena could hear her.

All of us are standing with our weapons at the ready, prepared in case whatever is attacking the girl decides to come our way. My first instinct is to run as fast and as far as I can, but my body is seized with terror. I feel as if I've been turned to stone.

Barden swallows thickly, glancing from side to side. "Where is it coming from?"

It's difficult to tell in the wide expanse of the arena. The wind carries the sound, and nearly everything echoes. But it sounds like she's close to where we are¾ that whomever or whatever is attacking her is close. The only problem is I can't run until I know which direction to _not_ go in.

"It's coming from there," Zeppina says quietly. She points west, dread evident in her brown eyes. "And it's definitely close by."

The grip on my knife tightens, and the hair on my neck stands on end when the screaming suddenly stops. We stand stock still for a minute, none of us daring to relax until we know what's going on. A cannon booms loudly. There's no way to tell for sure what signaled the cannon, but we all know it was for the screaming girl.

The cannon fire snaps me out of my trance, and I finally find my voice as the anxiety turns to adrenaline. I can feel my pulse beating harshly through the tips of my fingers and to my toes. "We need to go. Now."

We rush to gather everything, Barden taking the pack and slinging it over his shoulder. Our movements are hurried and tense, and I look over my shoulder constantly. I can't stand this. I need to know what's happening.

My eyes go wide, and I freeze in place when I hear the feint sound of a hiss from somewhere behind me. It's definitely not human. The noise is guttural and reverberates through the air, completely surrounding us. Both Barden and Zeppina are motionless, staring in the distance beyond me. Zeppina's body quivers slightly, and I know that it has nothing to do with the cold. I know that they can see whatever creature prowls behind me. The blood pounds in my ears, but I don't turn around.

The only thing I hear over the hissing is Zeppina's urgent whisper.

"Don't make any sudden movements."

I follow her advice even though my brain is screaming for me to run. I could get away. I'm faster than both Barden and Zeppina: the animal would get them first. I should be repulsed by my thoughts; but I'm not. I really don't want my allies to die, but I don't plan on dying anytime soon either. I need to survive. But the focus with which Zeppina is staring at the creature lets me know she knows what she is talking about, so I stay still.

I slowly turn my head to look over my shoulder. I regret it immediately as panic seizes my chest and spreads to every limb, anchoring me to the spot. The source of the noise¾ and no doubt the cause of the shrieking girl's death¾is less than two hundred yards behind me. Its hulking form is easy to distinguish even from this distance. It's a large cat-like creature¾a muttation. The Capitol has created a monster. It will no doubt live up to its name. Its large body slinks forward with sinuous grace. The creature's gaze is trained on us, sizing up its prey. My eyes are drawn to its brown fur, coated in the blood of its last victim. Bile rises in my throat, and I slowly turn my head back around to face my allies.

Barden's voice is panic-stricken as he whispers anxiously to us. "What is that?"

"I think… I think it's a mountain lion…or the muttation version of one," Zeppina replies quietly, her eyes still focused on the beast. My body is twitching with the urge to flee, but I hold still as she continues speaking. "It's gaging us, trying to decide if we're weak enough to attack."

"Won't standing still make it think we're vulnerable or trapped?" I hiss. I haven't had many encounters with live animals back in Twelve, but sitting and waiting for the mutt to get closer to us seems like a terrible idea.

Zeppina doesn't look at me when she answers, but her voice is steely. "That's what the eye contact is for. I'm trying to show it that we're aware of it."

I swallow numbly. Something tells me that the muttation isn't going to follow the same behavior as a real mountain lion. The hissing is getting closer, and I mentally prepare my taut body to move. I don't want to get mauled to death. I feel sick with the thought, especially when I remember that Mr. Fairbain and Mabel will have to watch. The faces of Barden and Zeppina flush in terror when a short, high-pitched roar ricochets through the air.

"Run!"

Instinct takes over, and I don't hesitate to follow her instructions. I take off in a sprint as adrenaline surges through me. I force my legs to move as quickly as possible. They feel like lead, and my lungs burn as I dart forward. My brain screams at me to run faster when the sound of the creature giving chase reaches my ears. I faintly hear Barden and Zeppina's steps behind me. There's a lot of distance between us. I don't slow my pace for them, my strained muscles following a single command: survive. _Faster_. The arena is a blur of whites and blues and greens as I flee across the mountain. If I can reach the forest, I might be able to lose the mutt. Another loud hiss rips through the arena, and terror fills me. I don't dare to look back. My heart beats furiously against my aching ribs, and I gasp for breath. My feet continue their restless motion on the ground.

"Run down the incline!" Zeppina screeches from somewhere behind me.

I follow the instruction blindly and change direction. I push through the exhaustion, never slowing my pace. I don't know how much stamina the animal has, but I'm sure it's more than me. My legs will give out soon enough, despite the adrenaline running through my limbs.

 _Keeping going_. _Less than half the hill to go._ Thoughts of survival battle against the panic raging inside of me. The sick thought flies to my mind once again: I don't have to outrun the muttation, I only have to outrun Zeppina or Barden. _No_. I won't leave them for dead. I'm not that person. _Unless I have to._ I try not to think about what will happen if it catches them—if it catches me.

Even with my pulse pounding in my ears, the sounds behind me are heightened. The hiss creeps up quickly, completely surrounding me. I can't tell how far away it is, but it feels too close. I panic and lose my footing on the rocky surface. I'm sent flying through the air, landing painfully on my shoulder. I hear Barden yell my name, but it's useless. I have too much momentum. I tumble down the slope, colliding painfully with the hard surface over and over. My side slams down onto a rock. The pain is searing, almost too much to take on my already bruised ribs. I can't stop. The mountain is too steep. Something cuts deeply at my arm and I let out an agonized cry.

I crash onto flat ground without any warning. All the air is knocked from my lungs. Disoriented, I gasp, my body screaming in pain. My brain shouts a thousand different things at me. _Get up! Run! Survive!_ I hear sound all around me: My name being called from the front, a roar from the back. The hiss is getting closer. I can hear the muttation's footsteps. I can see it bounding down the hill.

"Get up, Briar! You have to get up!" I'm too disoriented to recognize the voice, but I obey anyway.

I stagger to my feet. Stumbling, I break into a run again. I feel nauseous, exhaustion creeping into the edges of my vision. _I have to keep going. I'm not going to die this way._ There's a blur of green. The forest is right ahead of me. _Just a little more._ _I need to get there._ There's a burning pain in my lungs as I struggle to suck in air. The muttation is relentless, gaining on us every second. Barden and Zeppina are in front of me now. I'm the closest target; the most vulnerable prey. Dizziness fills my head. I force my legs to move faster. I can catch up to them. I have to.

I'm not going to. The mutt will not give up. It was made for this. There's no escaping it. One of us has to die.

I break through the tree line, darting around the brush. I'm almost even with Zeppina and Barden now. The creature shrieks behind me. _I'm going to die._ The muttation won't stop until it kills one of us. I need to make a stand. _Weapons_! All I have are two small knives. They won't be enough. I need something else.

 _A sword!_ It's lodged in the trunk of a tree a little distance away. _I can get it._ _Only a couple more yards._ I pant heavily as I race through the trees.

I can feel the mutt gaining on me. It's only a couple hundred feet back. I reach the tree, my chest burning painfully. I grip the hilt and yank. And yank. And yank. It's stuck. I'm overcome with terror. The only thing I hear is its hissing. I risk a glance over my shoulder. It will be upon me in seconds. _I don't want to die!_ I grab the sword with both hands and pull. The animal roars. I'm going to die. I pivot on the spot just as the mutt lunges for me.

I slash my sword blindly through the air, meeting the beast's throat mid-jump. We both shriek in agony. Its claws slice through my arm, my sword mirroring the action on the creature's neck. I crumple to the ground and the mutt crashes to the floor beside me. I faintly hear it make a gurgling sound as blood seeps from where I've cut its throat open. I stagger to my feet. The pain from my wound is excruciating, and I can feel the warm blood drip down my arm. I grip the sword tightly in my uninjured hand, and with a shuddering breath, I gingerly make my way towards the bleeding beast. The mutt continues to gurgle and pant. It's still alive, but just barely. It will not put up a fight. I raise the sword up and plunge it deep into the creature's chest. It twitches, and then falls still. _Dead_. It's over, my mind tells me, chanting the word. _Over. Over. Over._

I'm going to be sick. I rush over to the nearest tree and lean on it for support. The sword slips from my grip as I vomit. The pain and exhaustion is taking over me, crawling through every vein and seizing my body. I shiver uncontrollably even though I'm not cold, and my chest heaves with the effort I'm exerting to breathe. I'm alive. It's over. I lean my forehead against the trunk of the tree as I try to recover my breathing and regain my senses. The throbbing in my arm stops me from succumbing to exhaustion, both physical and emotional. With a shaky breath, I stand up straight and examine the wound. The claws of the monster have torn deeply into the skin, leaving gaping slash marks in its wake. The blood flows freely, soaking through the sleeve of my jacket. The stench of metal increases the nausea in my stomach, but I force it down. I've shown enough weakness. I can't be sick again, not in front of all of Panem.

I can't think about how close I was to dying—not yet at least. It's no use to dwell on it right now. The only thing that will do is create an inner panic so crippling, there'd be no way I could win. I can't afford that. I need to keep going.

I pull my arm close to my chest and apply pressure to stem the blood flow. I bite down hard on my lip to stifle the whimper bubbling up in my throat. I cast a glance towards the dead muttation, but look away quickly. I need to find Barden and Zeppina. They have to be around here somewhere. I was only a little behind them, and it's only been a few minutes since I killed the mutt. Or has it? Was I out of it longer? It doesn't matter; either way I can't stay here. I've made too much noise, and the forest is too close to the Careers. They will be coming soon. I stagger away from the mutt's body, moving deeper into the forest.

I make it about 100 hundred yards before I start to feel an uncomfortable cramping in my hand. I look down, and my brows furrow when I notice that I'm dragging the sword behind me. My grip around the hilt is firm to the point of being painful. I must be in shock or something, because I remember dropping the sword near the tree, but I don't remember picking it back up before I left. I briefly contemplate leaving it here, but ultimately decide against it. Something could attack me at any second, and while I'm generally useless with swords under normal circumstances, it seemed to be pretty effective against the mutt. Plus, they're better than my knives would be for keeping distance between my attacker and me. Loosening my grip slightly, I keep walking. I only make it about another hundred yards before I freeze again. The sound of footsteps reaches my ears, and despite my fatigued state, I'm prepared for another attack, clenching my hand tightly around the sword and raising it in the direction of the noise.

I almost collapse in relief when Barden and Zeppina come bounding through the trees. My arm drops down to my side, and I huff out a tired breath.

"Briar, you're okay," Barden says, shocked, as they rush over to me.

The expression on Zeppina's face is just as surprised. "What happened? Where's the mutt?" she asks, her head swiveling around frantically.

"Dead."

Her head snaps to face me. Their eyes go wide, and Zeppina sputters in disbelief, "Dead?"

"Dead."

They both scan my body, their gazes falling on the gaping slashes on my arm.

Barden's mouth tilts down, and Zeppina presses her lips into a thin line as she catalogues the extent of my injuries. She's apparently uninterested in the story because she doesn't ask for further explanation.

"We need to do something about that," she says, indicating to my wound. I nod stiffly, trying not to sway on the spot. The injury shouldn't be fatal, but I'm losing a lot of blood. "But we need to move first. Come on." Barden and I follow her as she begins leading us through the forest. She throws a glance back at me. "Keep pressure on it."

"What happened?" Barden asks, falling into step beside me. "You were right behind us, and then you were gone."

I shrug, but wince as pain shoots down my arm and into my torso. "I fought it," comes my clipped answer.

He gives me an exasperated look. "I put that together myself, thanks. My question is _why_. You're faster than both of us," he says with a nod in Zeppina's direction. "You could have outrun it."

I shake my head. "No, I couldn't have. Even if I hadn't fallen, it would have caught up to us eventually. One of us would have tired out."

"Or the muttation could have."

I sigh and look at him from the corner of my eye. "That was a genetically engineered animal from the Capitol. It was built to kill, and it wasn't going to stop until it had gotten one of us."

Barden's frown deepens. "But choosing to fight a mutt is crazy. You heard the girl's screams. That could have been you."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I don't know what his point is. I'm perfectly aware that I could have died. "Fighting seemed like the better option. I wouldn't have been able to keep running for much longer. At least that way I had a chance. Better than being slowly mauled to death after I collapsed from exhaustion."

Barden's gaze is intent for a minute. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Zeppina speaks before he gets the chance. "We can stop here and clean out the wound."

We're by the stream that runs through the entire arena. We've walked closer to the side of the forest, back near the mountainside. It's a safe place to rest, if only for a little while. Gently, I sit on the ground next to the water. I need to clean and dress the wound in something, but I have no medicine. Pulling out my knife, I cut at the shredded material of my jacket and begin wiping away the blood from my arm. I bite my lip to stop from wincing. With the coat and the blood out of the way, I can see that the slashes are deep and jagged, but I don't think the claws cut the muscle. Thankfully it's not my dominant arm. I'd really be useless then. I'll have to be extremely wary of infection. When I'm finished cleaning the wound, I dip the cloth it into the icy water. My blood floats from the fabric, tainting the clear water with a wispy cloud of red. The biting air contrasts with the warm liquid trickling down my arm. Hopefully the cold temperature will help the injury to clot. Zeppina comes over and grabs the cloth from my hand, wrapping it around my arm. I flinch as the frigid material touches my skin, but it quickly gives way to relief as it almost instantly slows the throbbing.

Barden plops down on the ground next to me. "That'll hold?" he asks, nodding a head in the direction of my now dressed wound.

"For now," Zeppina says. "It won't cause you to bleed out, but you might have to worry about infection without any medicine or other bandages. We can't stay here too long."

Barden looks over at me with a smile. "You have to get something after that. I mean, you just killed a giant mountain lion. By yourself. I'd say that's pretty sponsor-worthy."

I lay back on the grass and tilt my head up towards the sky, closing my eyes. "Yeah well, tell that to my mentors. Haymitch is probably cursing me for stressing him out." I'm not holding out much hope though. Sure I've just killed a mutt, but I also just threw up in front of the whole country.

"How did you manage to kill it and only come out of it with a couple scratches anyway?" Zeppina asks, suspicion and curiosity lacing her tone.

I frown. _A couple scratches?_ They nearly cost me my life¾could still cost me my life if they get infected. But she's right to question it. I would if our situations were reversed. How did I get away? My body quivers when I replay the mutt lunging towards me, the feeling of absolute fear I felt as I swung the sword. I don't know how I managed to survive, or how I managed to kill it. I'm just thankful that I did. Barden is right, too. The Capitol sent a killing machine after us¾ a muttation that had already claimed a victim just minutes earlier¾and it's now dead. It came straight at me, and I'm the one who made it out alive. People rarely make it out of confrontations with a mutt. Katniss and Peeta did last year, but that's because the wolves couldn't climb up the Cornucopia. They didn't have to go against them directly. But I did, and I'm alive. That has to be at least a little impressive.

I open my eyes and look towards the sky. My lips tug down. It's starting to get cloudy again. "There was a sword lodged in one of the trees," I say, answering Zeppina's question. "I got the mutt with it when it was lunging for me."

"I guess your fast reflexes paid off," Barden says with a bit of disbelief coloring his voice. "That thing was huge. You're lucky it didn't slice right through you." He cringes as soon as he utters the words.

I don't contradict him because the truth is that I was lucky. The Gamemakers had every intention of killing me. They probably even had my cannon prepared. The people in the Capitol were probably getting ready to pay what they owed to those who had bet on my death. I wonder if the people back in Twelve were tracking my movement, watching even when they thought I was about to be ripped apart by that monster. Yes, I'm lucky to be alive right now. My arm won't heal for days, and I suspect that I broke a rib or two when I fell down the hill. The pain I feel isn't going away anytime soon, but I still feel extremely fortunate. I can't help but smile a little. Despite the votes of confidence I had received, I know that no one aside from Mabel and Mr. Fairbain expected me to survive this long, and I'm proving them all wrong. I'm showing them that I'm determined to win this; that I'm not going to forfeit my life to the Capitol without a fight.


	11. Chapter 10: Severance

**Chapter 10: Severance**

"You're going to need medicine," Zeppina mutters as she inspects my wound.

We moved away from the stream a few hours ago, traveling farther into the woods and up the side of the mountain. Night is falling quickly upon the arena, and the weather is getting steadily worse. The grey clouds from earlier have expanded to cover the entirety of the artificial sky. The temperature is dropping lower by the minute, nipping at us and causing shivers to wrack my body. Despite how uncomfortable I am, I find my eyes drooping closed every few seconds, the fatigue of today's encounter finally catching up to me.

Skinning the meat for dinner had been difficult. Every movement sends pain rippling through my body, but I try my best to look strong. The gashes in my arm are no longer bleeding, but the wound is tender, and even through my thick jacket I can tell that it's inflamed. It's becoming infected.

Surprisingly, I'm not filled with fear at the sight of the redness and swelling. The only thing I feel is frustration. I didn't outrun and then kill a muttation only to die of infection from some⎯though admittedly deep⎯scratches. The quickness of the irritation makes me wonder if the claws were laced with some type of poison. Knowing the Gamemakers, that's probably the case. When they decide to kill you, you're as good as dead. I practically growl in annoyance. I know that my limited knowledge of medicinal plants isn't going to help. Aside from the trees, there is no other brush in the forest, and I can't remember seeing anything that would be useful in any other part of the arena. I'm not expecting to get any medicine from sponsors either. It's one of the most expensive things they can send into the arena, and even with killing the mutt I doubt I have enough support for that. The long list of tributes that have died from infection is a testament to just how uncommon it is to receive it as a gift. And it's not like I can tell Barden to ask his sponsors. They may have sent wire for us all, but that's because he'd benefit from it too. They aren't going to save another tribute just because we're working together. There's only one option.

"We'd have to go to the Cornucopia," I sigh out, rubbing a hand over my face. Fear twists in my gut at the mere thought. _Yup, as good as dead._

Zeppina shakes her head. "It's too dangerous. Even if the Careers have managed to break into it, we won't be able to get close enough to get anything. There's too many of them. They'd be on us in a second."

I don't bother trying to fight her on this. I'm too tired, and besides, I know that she's right. Even as the one in need of medicine, I don't even think it's a good idea.

"She could die otherwise. We don't have a choice," Barden argues, incredulous.

The tone is strange to hear coming from his mouth. I don't like it.

Zeppina shakes her head and throws a fleeting glance my way before looking back to Barden. "That may be and it would be unfortunate, but we could all die if we try to steal from their supplies."

She speaks in a detached manner, her practicality showing more than ever. I push away the slight feelings of betrayal I feel at her words. I'm not really offended by them; I have no right to be. We're in an alliance of convenience, it's not like we actually trust each other. I'm almost envious of her ability to look at everything so clinically. It'll help keep her alive in the arena.

It contrasts sharply with Barden's empathetic nature. "So we're just supposed to sit back and let it get worse?"

 _Yes_ , I think, a sad smile finding it way onto my lips. The kid is too kind for his own good. He should be more concerned about himself. Neither of them owes me anything, and this is too much to ask of people who are just my allies.

"You don't have to do that, Barden," I say, shaking my head at him. "Zeppina's right. There are eleven of them left. We'd be crazy to go in there. I can't ask you to put yourself in that position."

Zeppina nods, but Barden is unimpressed with my words. "You would do it for us."

I inwardly wince at the conviction in his voice. _Would I?_ I wish I could say that I'm a better person, that I would do this for either one of them, but the truth is, I don't know if I would. Just this morning I had contemplated leaving them for dead so that I could get away from the mutt. I feel embittered with the memory. The Capitol is already turning me into a monster, someone so focused on her own survival that I'd be willing to let someone as innocent as Barden die so that I could live. I don't want either of them to make that type of sacrifice for me.

"It doesn't matter what I would do. It's too risky. You can't even guarantee they'll be medicine in the Cornucopia."

"There has to be," he says firmly. "If there isn't, then we run for it."

I can hardly believe the words I'm hearing. "That's a horrible plan."

I'm sure that Barden's kindness is winning him the support of women all over Panem, while my refusal of his help is branding me as stupid. Haymitch is probably gone back to drowning himself in alcohol. I couldn't blame him. The sane, rational side of me demands that I jump at his insistence, but it's fought off by the emotional side of me, the one that's fighting against the Capitol's desire for me to survive by any means necessary, even if that includes the death of my friends.

 _No, I can't think of Barden as a friend. That just makes everything more complicated._ I inwardly scream. I'm not supposed to trust him. I need to focus on myself.

Barden heaves out a breath. "I know that it's dangerous, but we're in an alliance. That means we're supposed to help each other, right?" _Sweet, naïve Barden_. "There are ways to do it. The girl from Five found a way last year, and she was by herself," he says. He fails to mention the part about her plan ultimately getting her killed. "We could go at night when they're hunting, or when the next storm hits."

"We don't know when that'll be, or if there'll even be another storm," Zeppina says. One look at the overcast sky makes it obvious that it will be soon, but none of us say anything.

"Well, I think the cut on my face is getting infected. That makes two of us who need medicine, so I think we should go."

I turn to look at Barden's face, which is drawn into a look of determination. The cut he received during his fight with the boy from Two is scabbing over and is red around the edges, but it's impossible to tell if it's the result of infection or the biting cold air.

"Besides," he adds after a moment, "even if there isn't medicine, there might be other stuff there that we could use, things for the cold or some of the long-range weapons. The wire and the sleeping bag are good for now, but we don't how long we'll be here. Getting more supplies is the sensible thing to do."

There's a flash of contemplation of Zeppina's face before she huffs. "And how do you suggest we take them on? There are only three of us."

I purse my lips and stare at nothing in particular. "They only leave four tributes at the Cornucopia at a time. Or, at least that's what they've done the last few days," I say. I roll my eyes at the suspicious look Zeppina sends me. "I've been watching them. I know you've been too."

"I still don't like it," Zeppina mutters. I can tell that she's thinking it over though. I have to give Barden credit for his argument. He's appealing to Zeppina's practicality, and I think it's working. He's right about the status of our supplies. There's no telling what could happen during the rest of our time in the arena. The weather, the mutts, the climate⎯ it's all potentially life threatening. The smartest thing would be to get more supplies so that we can be prepared in case anything else happens.

Zeppina looks between Barden and I before she looks up towards the sky. We all sit in silence for a few moments, until Zeppina shakes her head and sighs. "Fine, but we don't go until the next storm. We grab what we can, and we get out quickly," she says with a tone of finality.

She likes Barden a lot more than she likes me, but I know that she'll have no problem leaving either of us behind if the time comes. Barden and I nod at her.

He sends Zeppina a small grin and tosses the sleeping bag at her. "I can take first watch. You guys get some sleep."

Neither of us protests his suggestion. I'm drained both physically and mentally, and I want nothing more than to crawl into the sleeping bag and sleep the rest of the Games away. I sigh at the warmth of the blanket enveloping me and close my eyes. I'm asleep in an instant.

I wake to the sound of the anthem. I rub my eyes tiredly and watch as the faces of The Fallen appear in the sky. The only picture that flashes is a girl from Ten, the one who must have fallen victim to the muttation. _Nox_.

I remember meeting her at lunch and watching the recap of her interview. She had been beautiful then, drawing the Capitol in with her mystery and elegant smile. Her beauty means nothing to them now. All they will remember is how she looked as she was torn to pieces by the mutt. I try to shake the thought from my mind. I don't want to think about how she looked when she died.

I turn my gaze on my allies. Both of their eyes are trained on the sky as the image disappears and the anthem fades.

"Go back to sleep. It's only been an hour or two," Barden says to us.

We both nod and lay back down. Zeppina's breathing evens out within minutes. I follow closely behind her.

Barden shakes me awake the following morning, or at least, I think it's morning. The sky is gloomy, a blanket of grey falling over the arena. It's reminiscent of the second day, and I immediately know that there will be another snowstorm today. This one might be even worse than the first.

My brows furrow when I notice Zeppina lying asleep beside me. There's no way that Barden stayed up the entire time. They must have alternated watch and let me sleep through the night. My body still ripples with pain, but I know that I would be a lot worse off without as much sleep. It makes me feel guilty and a little annoyed. The sleep is good for me, but I don't want to be indebted to them.

Barden is crouched down beside me, his face bright with a smile. "Come on, Briar," he whispers. "You can help me set some of the snares."

I crawl out of the sleeping bag. The cold air hits me in a rush, and I start shivering almost immediately. If I manage to survive, I'm going to hate winter for the rest of my life _._ My movements are stiff and mechanical as I test out my sore body. My joints protest every action. I'm sure that bruises cover every inch of my skin, and I suspect that I have a broken rib or two, all courtesy of my roll down the mountain. I internally groan at the memory. I looked pathetic in front of all of Panem.

I unwrap the bandage from my arm to examine the slash marks. It peels away with difficulty, sticking painfully to certain areas. I gag at the sight and smell that hits me. The skin is even more swollen than it had been the night before, burning hot even in the freezing temperature, and it now oozes a substance that smells viler than anything I've ever encountered. I'm starting to sweat even as chills run up and down my spine. I have a fever, I'm sure of it. The infection is progressing quickly, and if I don't get medicine soon, I know that it will kill me. My stomach ties itself into knots, but I try to push the idea away. If I focus on the fear, I won't be able to do anything. I pull the last piece of cloth I have from my pocket and rewrap the cuts. It won't do much, but it's better than nothing.

Slowly, I stand and make my way over to Barden. He hands me the wire, and gives me a quick smile. "How are you feeling?"

I grunt. "I've been better, but considering I rolled down half a mountain and almost got mauled by a giant cat, I'd say I'm doing better than expected," I say without looking up, instead choosing to focus on setting the snare.

I know he's really asking about the infection, but he'll just have to read between the lines. I'm not about to announce that I might die from it.

"Well, I think we should be able to go to the Cornucopia today. It looks like the storm could start any minute."

I bite my lip, ready to ask him if he's sure he wants to do this, but I stop myself. I don't have much of a choice, but he does, and it seems that he's already made up his mind.

I nod. "Yeah, maybe… I'm going go set this one up over there," I say, looking at no direction in particular. He sends me another smile, this one comforting, before I walk away to finish my work.

It takes me a long time to finish with the snare, considering that I'm practically doing it one handed and I glance frantically over my shoulder every time I hear a noise that sounds even the tiniest bit out of the ordinary. Despite this being my sixth day in the arena, I'm only just starting to realize how truly incomprehensible the Games are to those who haven't been in them. Sure, watching them on the television year after year instills a deep-rooted fear in everyone, but that terror sits in the back everyone's mind, only coming out when it's time for the reaping and disappearing as soon as it's over. I thought I understood it after watching the panic on Amelia's face through her Games, after watching her die before my eyes, but I was wrong. It's nothing compared to the sheer terror and paranoia that follows me wherever I go in the arena. It makes me feel weak, and I hate the Games even more for that.

I begin walking back just as it begins to flurry. The wind blows harshly, howling in my ears. A shiver runs down my spine as I watch the snowfall through the trees. It reminds me of the encounter with the crazed girl from Five and the rat-boy from Ten. I could be in another fight just like that in a matter of hours. Hopefully I'll be as lucky this time. I doubt it.

Zeppina is awake when I return. Her and Barden are discussing something in hushed tones that are impossible to hear over the whistling wind. I'm not overly concerned about it, though. Based on the frustrated look on the girl's face, I'm nearly positive that it has to do with going to the Cornucopia. She's clearly still skeptical of the idea. Not that I can blame her. Hell, I'm the one who needs medicine, and even I'm feeling uneasy about it. But at this point, it is what it is. If they decide they want to come with me, that's their prerogative. I'm not going to stop them.

Barden looks up and sees me approaching. They stop talking almost immediately. I smirk a little at how they stand upright, no doubt realizing how suspicious it seems, but I merely lift an eyebrow as I stop in front of them.

Zeppina's face is calculating as she looks me up and down. "Is it getting worse?"

"Not anything I can't handle," I say in response.

My arm throbs uncomfortably, but I don't let my tone give anything away. I can't let her think I'm weak, just like I can't let the Gamemakers or the Capitol people know how much this is distressing me. I make sure to stick a smile on my face for the cameras. Let them all think that I'm unaffected. Weak tributes get nothing, and they certainly don't win. I can pretend to be strong for a little longer.

"Did you finish with the snares?" I ask Barden after a moment.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, but you might want to check them," he says sheepishly. "You know I'm not very good with them."

I smirk and shake my head. "Where is it?"

He starts walking in the opposite direction of the snare I had set up. He stops in front of where he set his, and I look over it quickly before a snort finds its way past my lips.

"This is a mess, Barden. I mean, it's a bit of an improvement on the Training Center, but not by much," I say, humor coloring my voice. "You'd be starving without us, you know that, right?"

He shrugs, a boyish grin on his lips. "Probably, but you might not have wire if it weren't for me, so I think that makes us even."

I raise an eyebrow in his direction. "Touché."

I fix the snare quickly, and we head back towards Zeppina. She's packed the sleeping bag up already, prepared to leave at a moment's notice.

"The storm is getting worse," she says as we re-enter our makeshift camp. "But it's not safe enough to go yet. It might take a couple more hours."

She casts a glance in my direction, her eyes falling on my arm. I'm sure a part of her wouldn't be opposed to me keeling over from infection right now. That way she and Barden wouldn't have to go to the Cornucopia, and she'd most likely be safe for a little while longer. And it'd be one less person for her to get through. I can't fault her for thoughts like that. But I don't plan on dying anytime soon.

It's a little before midday, or what I assume to be midday, when the storm really begins to pick up. The wind itself is nearly blinding. It cuts through the air, making tears form in my eyes as they try to hydrate themselves in the crisp climate. The flurry from earlier has turned into complete chaos. Heavy snow intermingled with ice, which pelts violently against our bodies. The terrible conditions are perfect for us.

"Remember what I said. We get in and out as soon as we can. No sticking around for any reason," Zeppina says to Barden and I as we finish eating.

Barden gives her a nod in the affirmative. "Got it."

They both turn to look at me, and I glance between them quickly. "Yeah, agreed. I don't want to be there any longer than you do."

"We should get going then. It'll take us a few hours to get there in this weather."

We all stand up, already prepared to leave thanks to our limited supplies. Zeppina takes the pack⎯ one of her stipulations for going⎯ and we set off.

My stomach twists in anticipation and absolute fear of what might happen when we reach the Cornucopia. The weather ensures that we'll have cover, but it also means that the Careers will too. I do feel a little better about traveling in a group though. I know that the Careers have managed to break into that giant block of ice at this point, so they'll have weapons at the ready, but so will we. Barden's got his sword and a baton. I've given Zeppina one of my knives so that she has two. And thanks to that tree, I've now got this short sword and the knife I found the first day.

I bet all the people in the Capitol are waiting with bated breath for this; eager to see how this will play out, eager to see who guessed right on which of us would survive. I suppress a frown. The odds are probably not in my favor right now. The Careers have proven during the bloodbath that they're as deadly as they claim, but we've all proven that we're not going down without a fight either. Barden's already killed one of them, along with the boy from Ten, and I've managed to kill a mutt. Zeppina hasn't done much on the physical side, but she's proven herself to be resourceful, so I wouldn't count her out either. We're definitely not as outwardly threatening as the tributes from One, Two, and Four, but I think we can hold our own, especially with the weather on our side.

I gnaw at the inside of my cheek _._ I really, really don't want to die, especially from the slow, painful death that is no doubt in store for me if I don't get medicine. My desire to live doesn't just come from fear of death; it comes from the knowledge of who's watching me right now. The sixth day into the arena should be a Saturday⎯ _is a Saturday_ ⎯ and that means everyone back home is watching. Everyone who means anything to me is watching. Even if I think they'll be able to get on with their lives without me, I don't want any of them to have to watch me die. Having experienced it firsthand, I don't know if there's anything worse in the world than sitting back, helpless, as you watch the people you love being taken away from you. Mabel had been with me when Amelia was killed, had sat with me and held my hand while I cried over her. I don't want her, or Mr. Fairbain, to have to go through the same things I did. I don't want Haymitch to put me on the list of tributes that didn't make it.

 _This has to work._ I breathe in deeply and heave out a breath. _This will work. I'm not going to let them win._

We trudge in silence. I can tell that both of my allies are just as nervous as I am, even if they try to cover their faces with a look of indifference. It's hard to mask the fear of death.

We have to stop every once in a while to make sure that we are going in the right direction. The sheet of white that we see all around us makes it impossible to see the mountains, and the thin forest looks more like a thicket in the harsh storm. I can feel weariness settling over me, but it's not from the trek or the poor conditions. I can feel the infection creeping through me, sapping my energy.. I ignore it and push through.

We make steady progress, breaking through the tree line after about two hours. The closer we get to the Cornucopia, the more alert I become. And the more nervous. I can't see it yet, but just knowing that we're close, that the Careers are so close, makes my heart pound beneath my aching ribs and my stomach clench uncomfortably. Who will be there? Cato, Mace, Nerissa? Whoever it is, I hope they have enough humanity to give me a quick death.

"We should follow the stream," Zeppina yells over the howling wind.

I can't see it anywhere, but she seems to know where it is because she starts walking to her left. Her steps are tentative, but the way her head keeps swiveling from side to side tells me that it's out of fear rather than uncertainty. She stops after about hundred feet and begins to walk in the direction we had originally been facing. I can see the ice covering the small stream now. I know that we are on the right track.

It does little to ease my nerves.

We walk for about another hour, the wind making our movements sluggish. The anxiety I feel reaches a painful degree when the tail of the Cornucopia becomes visible from where I'm standing. Seeing it makes it real. I must be going crazy from the infection because there's no other way I'd willingly walk into the Careers' camp. I feel like I'm about to vomit. I feel like that a lot lately.

Zeppina turns to Barden and I, a serious look covering her features. It's time to go over strategy. "You should go in first, Briar. You're the fastest out of all of us. You'll have the best shot at slipping past them. If anything happens, if we get separated, we'll meet at the lake."

I bite my lip nervously, but nod my head in agreement. Going in first means that I'm the most likely to be attacked⎯no, the most likely to get killed. But we're here for the medicine that I need; if anyone should go in as bait, it should be me.

"We'll have your back," Barden says.

I nod numbly, and begin gingerly making my way towards the Cornucopia, my two allies following a few feet behind me. I scan the area, but I can't see anyone. I'm on guard for an attack though, the sword gripped firmly in my hand. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye when I'm about ten feet from the Cornucopia. I run towards the tail, using it as cover. Slowly, I glance around the edge in the direction of the movement. It's impossible to see clearly, but I know it's a person. I know it's a Career. _One_.

I look back in the direction I came, thankful that I can't see Barden or Zeppina clearly. That means the Careers can't either. Staying close to the side of the Cornucopia, I warily begin walking towards the front. My pulse thrums loudly in my ears, terror leaking from every pore in my body.

I freeze in place when I spot another figure a little ways ahead of me. _That makes two._ I squint my eyes to try and see through the snow. I think their back is to me, but I can't be sure. I stay anchored where I am for minute, but the person doesn't come any closer. I start moving again, this time more quickly. I'm close to the opening. _I need to get there._

I peer around the edge to get a better look at the front. There's another person on the far side, standing about twenty feet from the opening. _Three_. That leaves one unaccounted for. Or maybe there aren't anymore. None of them are facing me. This is the time to make a break for it. I round the corner quickly, practically throwing myself into the opening. I pull my sword up in front of me, prepared for an attack.

There isn't anyone in here. The only things I see are piles of supplies: weapons, food, sleeping packs. I glance over my shoulder, making sure that none of them have discovered me. The mouth of the Cornucopia remains empty. Cautiously, I begin looking over each pile, throwing looks over my shoulder every few seconds. I can't see what's going on outside; the storm is too fierce.

Everything in the Cornucopia has been carefully separated into designated sections. It makes them extremely easy to sort through. I'd smirk if I weren't so nervous. _How nice of them._ I don't waste time looking over them though. I head straight to what I take to be the medicine pile. I breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of it. It's stacked high. There's probably enough to treat half of the tributes.

I rummage through it, picking up a roll of bandages and two containers of medicine. It's difficult to know which container is for what, so I grab the ones that look the most expensive. I stuff them in my pocket and turn to look at the other piles, searching for food. There are so many different groups that it's hard to tell which is which. My eyes scan over a pile that contains flashlights and goggles. It's for night hunting. Shaking my head, I go back to looking for food. It's two piles over, and I start to move towards it, but go rigid in my spot before I have the chance. The sound of someone moving reaches my ears. _Oh God._ It's probably the Career I haven't accounted for. I clench the sword tightly, ready to attack but a voice cuts me off.

"Well this is nice. Who knew they'd be so organized," comes Zeppina's anxious voice. I turn around to see her glance over the different piles.

A sigh of relief brushes past my lips. "Yeah, they're just full of surprises." I glance over her shoulder, but there's no one else there. "Where's Barden?"

"Keeping watch," she says. "Hurry up. Let's grab what we need and go."

I don't bother replying, instead turning to do as she suggests. I go back to the food pile while Zeppina looks through the bundle of clothes and sleeping supplies. I'm surprised by what the Gamemakers have placed in here. There's no meat. Everything is packaged fruit. Have the Careers been surviving on this? Do they even know how to hunt anything that's not human? I bite my lip as I look the food over. _Even more reason to take it._

Hurriedly, I grab a small backpack and stuff some bags of fruit into it as well as two empty water bottles. I grab another knife for good measure. It'll be good to have a spare if I have to throw one and lose it. I can see Zeppina stuffing some things into a pack as well, her movements just as rushed and tense as mine. I pull the pack onto to my back, fighting back a whimper as pain shoots down my left arm. I can worry about that later. I don't know how long we've been here, a few minutes at most, but we need to go.

"You good?" Zeppina asks as she slings her pack on.

"Yeah, let's go. I'll go first, you follow me."

She nods as I make my way to the opening. The only thing I feel is dread. We've been here too long. I know that something isn't right. I'm about to make a run for it when the sound of screeching reaches my ears. It doesn't take me more than a few seconds to identify the noise. It's the sound of metal on metal. I can't tell where the sound is coming from, but I know that it's close. I hear Barden call out to Zeppina and I. I raise my sword to defend myself, but nothing comes. I squint, trying to see through the haze of white. I faintly make out two figures circling each other. One suddenly lunges for the other, the screeching noise filling my ears once again. It's Barden and one of the Careers. My stomach drops. _They know we're here._

Something flashes to the right of me. I suck in a sharp breath and crane my head to the side. My heartrate skyrockets. I know that someone is there. It flashes again, and suddenly there's something flying at my head. I throw myself to the ground, the object just barely skimming past the top of my skull. A spear embeds itself in the icy wall as I hit the ground, and I wince sharply when the impact jostles my arm. I clutch the sword even tighter and pull myself to my feet, frantically searching for my attacker. My eyes land on a large form emerging from the snow.

"Well look what we have here."

It's said low and tauntingly, the deep timbre of the voice making the hairs on my neck stand on end. I vaguely recognize the other boy from One. _Tilver_? He's not Cato or Mace, but that doesn't make me any less terrified of him. He has a sword in one hand and a cruel smirk lighting his features. I shiver involuntarily as he walks closer. There's nowhere for me to go. My back is pressed to the wall of the Cornucopia, and the boy is advancing on me quickly. My eyes flit over to where Zeppina had been moments before, but she is nowhere to be seen now. I distantly hear the sound of fighting outside the Cornucopia, but I train my focus on the boy approaching me. I need to do something.

 _Think_! My mind comes up empty. I try my best to scowl at him, to pretend like I'm not afraid. His face contorts into a gleeful snarl, and he laughs at the panic I can't mask from my expression.

He stops about ten feet from me, raising the sword so it's level with my chest. "My, my," he chides, "it looks like you've gotten yourself into a bit of bind."

He is a Career through and through. His eyes shine with bloodlust as he utters the sentence, and I know he's going to kill me. I'm sure that whatever death he's imagining for me is slow and painful. His eyes shift over to my injured arm, and he smirks even wider.

"Trying to steal from us? Not very smart, are you?"

He's toying with me. It's his first mistake, and the only one I need him to make. _Think! Do something!_ The knife I picked up comes from the weapons pile, which the Careers have strategically placed next to the opening, and now, next to me. _Distract him,_ my mind screams at me.

I shrug. "A girl's gotta do, what a girl's gotta do," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's quite the setup you have here, a lot of nice stuff. I didn't think you'd miss it."

He laughs again, a threatening sort of sound, and I inch my free hand towards one of the weapons sitting in the pile against the wall. He doesn't notice. He's too busy laughing at me.

"Mace was right. You are fun⎯for a District Twelve rat." Bile rises in my throat at the twisted compliment.I will myself to look strong.

The sound of a cannon booming distracts both of us for a moment. _Who?_ I spot a body sprawled out on the ground, but I know that it's one of the Careers. I can distantly make out Barden fighting with someone else. I snap out of it when I see movement. Zeppina uses the time to dart out of the Cornucopia. His eyes flit over to her briefly, but it's all I need. I close my hand around a weapon I can't identify, and I hurl it at him. He grunts and falls back as the weapon lodges itself in his shoulder. The action sends agonizing pain through my arm, but I ignore it. I sprint out of the Cornucopia and into the snowstorm.

I don't make it far; the weather's too harsh and the boy's strides are too long for me to escape. He grabs my backpack and yanks me hard. I slam into his body, his arm wrapping around my neck and his hand covering my mouth.

"You little bitch. You're going to pay for that," he snarls. I want to cry, but I force myself to focus.

"Nerissa claimed you as her kill, but I think I'm going to have change that. I'm going to make you scream. You're going to beg for mercy, and guess what, slum rat? You aren't going to get it."

This is the end for me. I know it. I'm sure everyone in the Capitol knows it too. But I'm not going to go down without a fight.

I bite down on his hand, digging my teeth into his flesh with as much force as I can, before elbowing him in the ribs and stomping on his foot. The fabric on his hand rips and I taste his blood when the skin breaks. He howls in pain, his grip loosening enough for me to escape. It's not much room, but it's enough for me to raise my sword to block his next attack. The screeching of the metal is painfully loud in my ears as adrenaline pumps through me. I stumble from the force of his blow. He has to have at least fifty pounds on me. But his size makes him slower. I have speed on my side and I'm a smaller target. I can't let him get too close. I'm already out numbered. There are at least two other Careers left.

He swings at me again with an animalistic growl. I narrowly dodge the brunt of his attack, but I grunt in pain when his sword nicks my shoulder. Even though I've never been in a sword fight, I can tell that he's not trying one hundred percent. He thinks I'm weak, that I'm an easy kill. He's underestimating my desire to live.

I swing at his torso, but he blocks it easily, pushing me back with a rough shove. My heart pounds furiously. I'm never going to win this with a sword. I didn't even use one in the Training Center. I'm useless with it. I need something else, anything else.

I thank the Gamemakers for choosing this moment to blow a particularly violent gust of air through the arena. Tilver and I both stagger. The force of the wind blows snow into our faces, and there's nothing but a wall of white in front of me. _This is my chance_. His bigger body makes him clumsier than me, and I recover more quickly than he does. I slash at the air wildly, my sword colliding with something hard. I hear a dull thud, and I know I've hit the body when red drops fly through the air. I don't hesitate to make a run for it.

I take off in the direction of Barden, my legs pumping furiously beneath me. I catch sight of his black jacket through the snow. He's moved farther away from the Cornucopia, but he's still fighting one the Careers, both of them swinging away at each other. My lungs burn painfully in my chest as my feet carry me forward. I want nothing more than to leave this place behind and run as fast as I can to the lake, but I can't leave Barden behind.

I push myself against the biting wind. _Just a little more._ I glance over my shoulder to make sure that Tilver hasn't followed me. Satisfied that there's nothing there, I turn back again.

Crippling panic seizes my body. I see a flash of movement behind Barden, a lone gray shadow, but he doesn't notice. He's too busy fighting off his opponent. The wind howls loudly, blowing snow violently through the air. I'm frozen to the ground, helpless to do anything but watch as Barden falls to his knees. The shadow behind him takes form as they lower the knife, slashing it across his throat.

I feel nothing for a moment, too distracted by the red intermingling with the white, too distracted by the shrill scream of his name that battles against the cannon echoing through the air.

Two heads turn to me as he slumps to the ground, and I realize that the screaming voice belongs me. My heart stutters as the two figures begin to move towards me, one of them raising a knife in preparation. My brain screams at me to run. Before I know what I'm doing, I fling the sword in their direction, trying to distract them as I take off in a sprint. I don't care where it lands. I need to get out of here. I hear a shriek behind me as the sword does its job. I don't look back, not even when I feel a blade clip my injured arm.

I run, and run, and run, my body propelled forward by some unknown force. I don't notice anything as I go. My pulse thrums and everything seems blurrier than before, meshing into a suffocating blanket of white. My mind repeats one solitary word: _Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead._

The wind whips viciously against my face and my body aches all over. I don't feel any of it.

 _Dead. Dead. Dead._

Images flash in my mind; images of glinting silver and scarlet. Two memories merging seamlessly, forcing a sob past my lips.

 _Dead. Dead._

Barden.

Amelia.

 _Dead._

My legs continue moving, carrying me away from sweet, innocent Barden. I faintly hear myself hiccup another sob. I don't stop running.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Wahhh, I'm so sorry, but we all knew he had to die. Poor Barden, though. I didn't think it would be that hard to kill a character off, but boy was I wrong. Guess we'll just have to wait and see how Briar reacts.**

 **As you guys can tell, this chapter is a bit shorter than the previous ones (like half the length... sorry) so as a result, I'll post chapter 11 hopefully Monday, but that will be on the shorter side as well.**

 **Reviews:**

 **Guest: Briar's way of thinking can be quite complicated at times since its rather different than my own thinking, so it's always fun to write. Don't worry, Cato definitely plays a big part in this story, so be ready!**

 **WhiteEevee: Barden is—was—indeed very awesome. A bit on the dramatic side though if you could tell by his one sentence answers XD. I've always wanted to write a character that fell sort of in the mold of a young Finnick, you know, the kind without all the apparent sex appeal and less sardonic, hence the sponsor love. AHHHHH the chase scene. It'll tell you right now, this story has roughly 26 chapters and that scene alone probably took me longer than any chapter on the whole... it was a real struggle to get the pacing. :( typos... the bane of my existence**

 **SlyviaHunterOfArtemis: Sadly, there is no longer a need to be suspicious of Barden... the sword, well, that's sort of just randomly placed, as are all the weapons in the arena. Sorry if that wasn't clear. Thanks for keeping up with the story and reviewing (: it really means a lot!**

 **'Til Monday (or Tuesday, possibly)!**


	12. Chapter 11: Fault Lines

**Chapter 11: Fault Lines**

I remember the day Amelia died with burning clarity. It was a school day, the warm sun beating down on District Twelve, but there were no children taking advantage of the good weather. No one plays outside during the Games. Instead, we all sat packed in one of the tiny classrooms during lunch, our eyes trained on the TV. It was suffocating in that room, the humid air surrounding me in an uncomfortable blanket of moisture and warmth, but I didn't dare leave. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

I idolized Amelia. She was strong and beautiful, and she cared so much for everyone. She was selfless in a place where selfishness was a way of life, a means of survival. But above all, she was innocent. She had the ability to see beauty and worth in everything and everyone. I admired that so much about her. It took me years to realize that that was her downfall.

I was proud of her when she saved the boy from Two, and when she joined the alliance with the Careers. All the other kids telling me how great she must be if they want her. My nine year-old self was still too young, too naïve to understand the pitying looks adults sent me. She was with the Careers; there was no way she was going to lose.

She was in the final five. It had been years since someone from Twelve made it farther than the top eight, but she had done it without having to kill a single person. She was smart. She knew exactly what to do and when to do it, and so I just assumed that when it came the Careers, she'd be right again.

She had worked out a deal with the two remaining tributes from Two. If the alliance were still intact when five tributes remained, they would give her a day's head start to get away. There was nothing to fear: not for her and not for me. She'd be able to get away and hide while the rest of the tributes went after each other. She could come home. It's amazing how quickly that changed over the course of a few minutes spent in that tiny, suffocating classroom.

Any hope I'd have of her coming back to me were shattered in an instant⎯ completely destroyed by the hushed whispers of the boy and girl from Two. I sat trembling in my seat, color draining from my face and tears stinging my eyes, watching helplessly as they planned my sister's death.

" _We should make it painful. I could gut her, make a nice_ ⎯"

" _Do it now," he says, he voice low and commanding._

 _His partner pouts. "But she's_ sleeping _. That's no fun."_

 _He rolls his eyes. "Just make it quick. Give her a little mercy."_

 _The girl eyes him curiously as he walks away, but she doesn't argue with his demand. She gets up and walks towards Amelia, a sick smile lighting her features._

Mabel grabbed my hand and squeezed tightly, but I barely felt it. The only thing I noticed was the tightness in my chest as my watery eyes watched the swipe of the knife across her throat, the spray of red on the sand. I flinched at the sound of the cannon, jumping to my feet and running out the door before anyone could stop me.

I sat in the meadow all day, crying until I didn't think there were any more tears, and then crying some more. The sun continued to shine brightly in the sky when I cried out, when Mabel found me and offered her silent comfort, when I dragged myself through the street filled with pitying looks to an empty house. I was a mess, but the sun shone brightly, oblivious or indifferent to my loss⎯just like the Capitol.

…

This day feels the same. The farther I move from the Cornucopia, the bluer the sky becomes. It is clear and bright, the rays of light illuminating the snow and making the entire arena glow as if it were the sun itself. The events of minutes⎯ _hours?_ ⎯earlier already forgotten by the Gamemakers. They are happy with today's bloodshed. It is enough entertainment for now.

I continue to run as fast as my legs will carry me, but I know I will have to stop soon. The lake isn't far, and I'm exhausted. But I can't bring myself to slow down. I know what will happen when I do. I've been through this before. So I keep going, the image of Barden on his knees driving me forward.

I run out of land too quickly. I pull to a stop at the edge of the water, my lungs burning and my heart pounding. The sound of my blood rushing is not enough to drown out the word my mind keeps repeating. I have nothing to distract me now that I am no longer running for my life. The area is empty, and I am left with nothing but my thoughts.

 _Dead._

I suddenly feel like my chest is caving in on itself, all the air catching in my lungs as I struggle for air. My head aches and my throat constricts painfully as images of Barden flash through my mind. I squeeze my eyes shut as a hiccup lodges itself in my throat, trying to block out everything. But I know that reality will not let me escape. He is dead, and I am alone.

My heart feels like a useless weight, and the medicine feels like lead in my pocket. _Your fault, your fault, your fault._ I did this. He was only there because of me, trying to get medicine because I needed it. He'd still be alive if it weren't for me. _My fault, my fault, my fault._ I put him in that situation, and they killed him. The guilt is crushing, making my chest collapse even deeper in on itself.

But I know that there is nothing I could have done to save him. I may as well have been back in that stuffy classroom. I was helpless, just like I was six years ago. It's like history repeating itself. The image of red mixing with white clouds my vision. My lip trembles and my throat tightens even further. I feel like I'm suffocating, but I don't care.

Barden had been so charming with his bright smile and stupid jokes. I knew the minute I met him that his innocence would be the end of him, just as it had been for Amelia. Innocence cannot survive in the arena. The Capitol makes sure to destroy every last shred of happiness, and youth, and hope. Barden and Amelia were too good for these Games. They deserved so much more than to die before they ever got the chance to live. My eyes prickle with tears, and I clench my teeth down as a few of them leak from the corners. I wipe them away quickly. I'm tired of crying and showing them weakness. I won't give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. I have to keep it together for the people I made promises to. I won't disappoint them.

Anger surges through me, my skin burning and my throat aching with the urge to scream. I hate this. I hate this feeling, I hate the Games, but more than anything, I hate the Capitol. He was at the Cornucopia because of me, but they did this. They killed them with their injustice and their cruelty. They are the ones who have turned children into murderers, who have destroyed countless families with their sick Games. They're to blame for everything.

Mr. Fairbain's words ring in my head, " _Don't let them take anything else away from you."_ I remember the small girl from Eleven, the one that Katniss had wrapped in beds of flowers to show that she mattered⎯that her death, no matter how inconsequential it seemed to the Capitol, mattered. I can't do that with Barden, but there are other ways to show them. There are other ways to let them know that they will not win; that they can't take everything. They're the ones who put us here, who have given us all a death sentence, but I won't let them destroy me. They can throw whatever they want in my direction, but they will not win. They don't get to take my life from me.

I feel heavy and lonely, but I force myself to pull it together, setting my face into a look of determination before taking off. I don't bother running, instead choosing to walk slowly to the area Zeppina and I had camped the first night. My body aches too much for the strain, and I have my knife at the ready in case anyone comes near me. It'll be their funeral; I'm looking for anything to take my anger out on.

The medicine clanks together in my pocket. The absence of adrenaline forces me to feel all the effects of my infection, but I do not stop to apply the salve. With the storm cleared out, I am too out in the open to perform such a distracting task. It should only take me two hours to get to the mountainside, and I doubt I'll die by then. Maybe it's masochistic, but I almost enjoy the pain. It reminds me of what's happened, what these Games are doing to me and everyone else in here, and so it drives me forward.

I wonder if Zeppina is already at the spot. I think there's a good chance. She took off from the Cornucopia long before I did. She's got a lock on self-preservation.

I walk until it gets dark, and even after that. I'm extra cautious, remembering the flashlights and the night-goggles that I had seen in the Cornucopia. The Careers will begin hunting in full force soon, if they haven't begun already, and I'm weak and injured. I ignore the way my joints protest every movement I make, eager to be as far away from them as I can get. Heat flares in my veins when I think of them, but I'm not stupid. I'd have a hard time defeating anyone in my state. I can tell that my fever is getting worse, but I ignore it and continue on.

The anthem begins to play just as I enter the familiar area. The first face to appear is the girl from Four, the one that was reaped. I don't remember her name. Then comes Barden. There are no more deaths, and so the sky fades to black and the arena is silent once again. That means my wild swinging didn't kill the boy from One, not that that comes as a surprise to me. But it's a disappointment all the same.

"It's a shame," Zeppina says from behind me.

I nearly jump out of my skin. I hadn't even heard her approaching me. Maybe she was hoping that she could scare me to death. I slowly turn to face her, but her eyes are still trained on the sky.

"But at least now we don't have to kill him."

My fist clenches at her easy statement, but I don't respond. It is a harsh truth, but she doesn't need to say it so casually. _Or at all_. But I know that she's right. It brings me a sad sort of relief. At least he will not die directly by my hand. I don't think I could live with myself if that happened. I'm having a hard enough time with the guilt as it is.

That, of course, does not go for the other twenty-seven tributes that must die for me to return home. There are twenty-nine of us now, which means that only five people stand between me and my return to the Capitol. The odds keep getting better.

Everything would move much quicker if the Careers weren't allied together. I wonder what they're doing right now. All of the ones who were out scouting for other tributes have no doubt been told about us stealing from them. The fact that they're now down one more person is probably a pretty big indicator as well. I should be more worried than I am. The boy from One knew who I was, so I have no doubt he's let them all know just who was responsible for their depletion in supplies.

If all the glares I received from them in the Training Center weren't a clear enough sign to express how much they hate me, then One's statement about Nerissa claiming me as her kill was certainly enough to drive the point home. They're probably even more eager to kill me now that I've stolen from them. I made them look foolish by getting away with it. I wouldn't be surprised if they were all fighting over who gets to kill me. Their separation of supplies in the Cornucopia proved that they're organized. Maybe they've even made a list of who gets a go and when. It's too bad they haven't channeled all that anger into something productive, like killing each other. Maybe that'll start now that the first arena is almost over. That would be nice. Maybe Cato and Mace will take each other out. They'd certainly be doing us all a favor.

Neither Zeppina nor I try to continue the conversation. I'm thankful because the pain radiating from my arm is excruciating, and tremors wrack my body from the fever. Slowly, I ease myself to the ground. I don't know how I managed to run all the way from the Cornucopia, because even the motion of sitting down is incredibly difficult. I can feel Zeppina's eyes on me, but she doesn't offer any help. I'm glad she doesn't; I don't want or need it right now.

I take the medicine and bandages out of my pocket and place them beside me, then turn to unwrap the cloth from my wound. The putrid smell hits me before the material is fully removed, and I fight down the urge to vomit. It smells exactly like when we leave the meat out too long in the hot weather and it begins to decay. The gashes are much worse than they had been this morning. The surrounding skin is discolored and inflamed, and the foul smelling pus continues to ooze out of it. I curse the Gamemakers for doing this to me. I am confident that this infection would have killed me. Bitterly, I reach over for the containers of medicine. I hesitate for a moment, my brows furrowing as I look down at them. I took two from the Cornucopia because I didn't know what they would do, or which would help treat infections. And seeing how that fact hasn't changed in the last few hours, I'm still at a loss.

"Do you know anything about Capitol medicine?" I call over to Zeppina.

She looks up at me from her place against the mountainside and shakes her head. "No. It's all high-tech though. I'm sure anything would work."

I frown at her answer, because I don't think she really believes that. I wonder if she really knows nothing about it, or if she's trying to trick me. She hasn't tried to kill me so far, unless you count almost scaring me to death, but Haymitch's words are ingrained in my head. Sly ones aren't to be trusted, and with the way she booked it out of the Cornucopia, I know that she is not all too concerned about whether I live or die.

Sighing, I inspect the containers. It's no use. Their labels contain descriptions that mean nothing to me. We have nothing like this in District Twelve, not even Mayor Undersee could afford this stuff. We have to make do with homemade remedies, most of which are supplied by Mrs. Everdeen. I had to go see her a couple of years ago, when I first started working for Mr. Fairbain. I was clumsy with the knives and a moment of lost concentration resulted in me slicing my hand open. She had fixed it up with a balm made from some herbs bought in the Hob and some painful stitches. Everything healed fine though, and she became my go-to healer whenever there was an emergency, though those were few and far between. As I got older, the injuries became less frequent, and I haven't had a need to see her in a long time. Not that she really seemed up to it. But I wish that I had, because maybe then I could at least take an educated guess as to which I should use.

I pop open the lid to each container, taking in the contents. They're both filled with some type of gel, one purplish and the other yellow, so color doesn't help solve my problem. I internally groan. Everyone's watching as I make a fool of myself. I'm practically⎯ _definitely_ ⎯ dying from infection, and I can't figure out which stupid container to use. I lift the yellow gel up and sniff it. I look like an idiot _._ I gag, my nose scrunching up as the scent fills my nostrils. It smells awful, like the grease and dust my father tracks in from the mines. I grab the purple one, hoping that it smells at least a little better.

It does. The scent is earthy, and I am reminded of the balm that Mrs. Everdeen made. I know it's not the same though. This is high-tech stuff, made in some lab in Capitol. I glance between the two, ultimately deciding to use the purple one in my hand. I scoop some gel onto my fingers, but go back for a more generous amount when I glance at the infected slashes. I moan when it touches my skin. The relief is instantaneous, cooling the irritated area and immediately lessening the pain. I eagerly spread more over the wound, relishing in the relief it brings. Just to be safe, I rub the balm over the cuts I got today, but I make sure to save someone of the gel in case I need to apply more tomorrow. I struggle to wrap my arm in the clean white bandages from the Cornucopia. It's difficult to do one-handed, but I refuse to ask Zeppina for help. Not that I think she'd be willing to do it anyway. I don't need to look incompetent on top of everything else. Eventually I finish and pack everything away in my backpack.

There is no conversation between Zeppina and I. It feels similar to the first day in the arena, when we had sat awkwardly while we waited for Barden to come join us, hoping that he wasn't dead. But we both know that he isn't coming now. The tension in the air is making me uncomfortable. I am positive that she liked Barden more than me⎯I'm not actually sure she ever liked me⎯ and this alliance between the two of us, as Haymitch put it, is tenuous at best. We made it this far because we both trusted Barden, but there is almost no trust between Zeppina and me. While I am slightly alarmed by—and envious of, if I'm being completely honest —her sense of self-preservation, I know that it can't spell anything good for me. I don't think she'd outright attack me; she seems more like the type to poison my food or something. Either way, I'll have to be careful around her from here on out.

The sound of chiming distracts me from my thoughts. I look up to see a small silver parachute floating down, a large twelve emblazoned on the side. Sponsors.

 _Sponsors!_ _For me!_ Someone out there actually cares. Someone out there wants me to win.

I grab the pot out of the air before it has time to hit the ground. Eagerly, I open the top. Inside sits a small canister with a spoon, a roll, and a tiny slip of paper. I pull the container out and place it on the ground next to me, reading the note.

 _You're still in this. Keep your head up. - H_

I bite my lip as I read the note over once more. So Haymitch has been watching this whole time. I can't help the surge of frustration that runs through me. If he's been paying attention, why couldn't he have just sent me some medicine before? Then Barden would still be alive. I glare down at the tiny piece of paper in my hand, but the expression softens when my eyes drift towards the pot on the ground. There are people out there who want me to have this: People that have spent their money on this gift so that I'll have a better shot of making it out of the arena. And as mad as I am with Haymitch, I understand what he's trying to tell me. He doesn't want me to give up. I need to keep fighting.

I'm overcome with gratitude at the gesture of those supporting me, and even for my mentor for encouraging me not to give in. Just knowing that people actually believe that I can do this is enough to push me through another day.

I'm positive that there is a camera on me right now. Unless there is a fight going on, they are sure to show me receiving a gift from a sponsor. My lips tug up into a soft smile and I give a quietly spoken thank you, hoping that whoever sent this understands how much this means to me right now.

The sound of a zipper opening reminds me that Zeppina is still here. I frown slightly as I watch her fiddle with something in her pack. We haven't eaten since this morning, and while the infection has made my appetite basically non-existent, she must be hungry right now. I bite my lip and debate what to do. I could leave her to fend for herself, I'm sure she grabbed something from the Cornucopia, but we are in an alliance.

Sighing, I pick up the small roll. "Hey, Zeppina."

Her head snaps up, and I toss her the bread. She catches it easily, but I can tell that she's confused. Her eyebrows are drawn together and her lips are pressed into a thin line. "What's this for?"

"Dinner," is the only reply I give. She mumbles a thank you and bites into the roll.

I grab the canister from its spot in the snow and pop the lid open. The smell of soup floats up through the air. I inhale deeply, only now becoming aware of the hunger in my stomach. The Capitol medicine must be working because I feel astronomically better than before. I eat the soup slowly, trying the savor the taste as much as I can. I think it's beef, but I'm not sure. It certainly doesn't taste like anything we have back in Twelve. No, this food comes straight from the Capitol, which means it was expensive. It makes me even more grateful.

My ally and I eat in silence. I'm too busy enjoying my soup to notice the cold air biting at my skin. When I finish, I lay out my sleeping bag and crawl into it. I focus on the warmth that fills me, trying not to think about Barden. I don't want to get upset again, so I let my mind drift towards the Careers, and focus on the anger that fills me. I fully intend on keeping my promise to Cato. I won't hesitate to kill him or anyone else in the arena if I get the chance.

I think of the promises I made to Mabel and Mr. Fairbain, promises I made to myself. I can't keep trying to convince myself that everything is going to be okay. I know that it won't be. I don't bother hoping that I will be fine, or that things are going to get better. You can't win these Games without becoming someone else. I've wasted too much time pretending that this won't change me, thinking that there was any other way out of here, because there isn't. Nothing is okay, and now that I know that, there is no going back. I'll keep my head up like Haymitch said, and I'm going to win this whole damn thing.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **So there's the next chapter! I know this was a little shorter and more of a filler, but alas, I couldn't cut it. It was originally a part of the previous chapter, but it felt too long and I wanted to make Barden's death more poignant. Anyway... I hope you guys liked it. The next chapter will be up Friday!**

 **Reviews:**

 **lovewords: Please never never ever apologize for writing reviews! They are never irritating. It seriously means so much to me that you took a chance on this story and that you are enjoying this much! gahhh! Any who, I'm so happy you like Briar. I've obviously very attached to her and it makes me so excited to see people enjoying her character. And Barde, ahhhh. I tried to make him as precious as possible so that it would be hard not to like him. Am I mean? Karn and Cato are definitely intended to have some parallels which you'll be seeing more of soon (hint hint). As you can tell from this chapter, Tilver is sadly still alive, as are Mace and Nerissa. You'll be seeing more of them all soon enough.**

 **WhiteEevee: I'm sorry...I know how much you love Barden. But yeah, he had no sense of self preservation, whereas Zeppina... It's part of the reason I wrote all three characters as I did and put them together. Barden with none, Zeppina with a lot and Briar somewhere in the middle (depends on how much she likes you). Ah, the musings. They're really my favorite parts to write, partly because they come the most naturally to me and partly because I'm really fascinated by how an individual's mind works, and well, Briar's mind is always turned up to 11. The organization of the Careers is sort of a holder for this idea that I have of Cato being sort of OCD. I know the books always portray him as impulsive, and I would never deny that he is, but the idea always sticks in my head. And it's not a hugely important point, the organization, so I thought, why not?**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: BARDENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN! Yup, that pretty much sums up the chapter (and how I felt writing it as well)**

 **Mely-the-Mockingjay: Sadly, you are correct, only a few can survive... DUN DUN DUN. Who will it be? Cato will be making a reappearance with a vengeance soon and he won't be going anywhere anytime soon (am I giving too much away? Oh well)**

 **Til Friday!**


	13. Chapter 12: Fair-weather Friends

**Chapter 11: Fair-weather Friends**

The night and the following morning pass as they have every other day in the arena, with one notable change. My sleep over the course of my days here has been surprisingly and blissfully blank. But I know that this will no longer be the case, especially after the restless sleep I endured last night. It was plagued with nightmares, some of Amelia, some of Barden, and some of myself. They take place in either the desert arena of the sixty-ninth Games or this one, but all of them end the same⎯-with a knife to the throat.

I'm exhausted when I wake up, feeling embittered and morose, but I know that I have other things to worry about, like my arm. I'm glad to see that I seem to have chosen the right ointment to apply. Some of the skin has returned to the wounded area, and there is no longer pus oozing from it. The best part is that it doesn't smell any more either. The skin is a little swollen, and the slashes are still clear on my arm, but at least I know that the infection won't kill me now. Still, I apply another layer of the gel over the wounds just to be safe.

We don't waste any time trying to set up snares, especially now that we're back in the valley of Careers. The packaged food saves us from having to light a fire and attracting any attention. I have to scold the reckless part of me that wishes we would so I could get this all over with. But I'm no Katniss. I don't have the skills or the resources to shoot down a flock of bloodthirsty teens. I'm fully aware of how stupid it would be to draw them here, and so I force myself to think rationally. The packaged fruit from my bag actually looks pretty good, but that might be because I've been spending the last few days eating rodent meat.

I don't know what makes me think of it, but I suddenly become very aware of the fact that I haven't bathed in seven days. I'm positive that I both look and smell disgusting. I purse my lips as I look to the lake. Bathing is definitely not an option unless I plan on doing an impression of the Cornucopia. There doesn't seem to be any viable solutions to my problem, so I resign myself to the fact that my looks aren't going to win me any more sponsors. Sighing, I pull the band from my hair and run my fingers through it before pulling it into a simple ponytail. It'll have to do for now.

"We need a plan," Zeppina pipes up from her spot on the ground.

We do. We hadn't bothered to think of one last night, or at least, I hadn't. I went to sleep almost immediately after I had finished the soup. But everything I know about Zeppina indicates that she always has a plan, even if she doesn't say so.

I look up at the sky and then across the lake. Everything looks the same in this arena. We've covered a lot of ground, and I have no particular interest in exploring the mountaintops we haven't been on yet. Who knows what other mutts they've got up there.

"There isn't really anywhere to go," I say to the small girl with a shrug of my shoulders. "I don't know about you, but I'm not exactly eager to cross the valley again."

"There are twenty-nine of us now," Zeppina says. "We're here, obviously, and there are ten Careers at the Cornucopia, so that leaves seventeen people unaccounted for."

I grunt before speaking, "Most of them have probably taken to the mountains or the forest. They're certainly not near the center of the valley." Lucky them. I wish we had managed to stay hidden for so long.

She looks thoughtful for a moment before adding, "Well, they'll probably start trying to force more of us together now that there's so few left." _So few that need to die._

"We could try the other side of the lake," I suggest.

I don't really see the point in moving, but it will at least keep me occupied. If another tribute doesn't find and kill us, staying here and doing nothing might make us targets all the same. I decide I'm definitely losing it. Most people would kill-⎯I snort, _do kill_ ⎯-to be left alone in the arena, and here I am, complaining about it.

Zeppina nods at my suggestion, so I take that as acceptance. We pack everything relatively quickly, both eager to get a move on. I stop over at the edge of the water before we go to fill the two water bottles that I took from the Cornucopia. I hand one to Zeppina and we set out.

* * *

The sky is cloudy but blue. There will be no storm today, which makes our journey considerably easier. I have to squint as we walk, the rays of light glaring off yesterday's snow. Our pace is slow, but there is no one in sight, and so we don't bother changing our speed. We walk in heavy silence, which is nothing new between us. This alliance is going downhill fast. I repeat Haymitch's words in my head over and over, reminding myself to be careful around her.

* * *

My heart rate accelerates when a loud crack resounds through the arena. Both Zeppina and I look around, trying to find the source of the noise, but there are no indicators. There is nothing but snow and sunlight. It's a sound I've never heard before, but the volume of the boom tells me that it's dangerous. We remain still for a moment, confusion and fear gnawing at my insides. A rumble rolls through the air like thunder, but the sky remains free of storm clouds.

"There," Zeppina says, pointing to the mountain at the far end of the arena.

My brows furrow as I stare intently at the landmass opposite of us. The low rumbling continues as a cloud of white appears near the peak. It's an avalanche, I realize after a moment. We don't have them back in Twelve and so I find myself watching in both mild fascination and horror as the snow does its damage. The mass of white expands rapidly, overtaking the majority of the mountain, the noise getting louder and louder as it covers more land. There is another boom, but I recognize this one. The low roaring fades out. The disaster has claimed its victim. _Twenty dead._

Zeppina tears her eyes away from the snow cloud. "We should keep going."

* * *

We settle down in our new spot at the other side of the lake. It looks unremarkably similar to the area we had left this morning. I roll the sleeping bag Zeppina had taken from the Cornucopia out on the rugged surface, collapsing onto it. Zeppina does the same somewhere to my right. Darkness hasn't completely descended upon the arena yet, but I feel exhausted. Whether it's from the tension between Zeppina and me, or the time in the arena catching up to me, I don't know. I temporarily distract myself with going through my pack. I really should have done it last night, but I wasn't exactly thinking right. I mentally chastise myself for my reckless thinking yesterday. I promised Mabel and Mr. Fairbain that I would try, and getting myself killed because I'm too angry to control my actions is obviously not the way to do that. My anger towards the Careers hasn't dimmed at all, but I can at least acknowledge that I need to be a bit smarter about things if I plan on surviving.

I dump everything from my pack out onto my sleeping bag. There's a water bottle, the medicine and bandages, three packages of dried fruit, and a knife. With the one in my boot, that makes two weapons. I've also got the wire while Zeppina has the flint. It's enough to get by for a few days, but I wish that I had managed to grab more from the Cornucopia. Even with only four more deaths to go, there's no telling how much longer we're going to be here.

"I'm going to go look around the area," Zeppina says, breaking our silence. "I'll set the snares too. We can start a fire at sundown."

I give her a quick nod and hand her the wire. She's gone in a flash. Half of me doesn't expect her to come back, but she's left her sleeping bag behind, so I know that she'll return sooner or later.

I put everything away and lay back, looking up at the darkening sky. That satisfies me for about ten seconds. The solitude forces me to listen to nothing but my own thoughts. I hate them because I can't think of anything other than Barden and Amelia and how much I want to go home. Going crazy is still a worry at this point, and so I force myself to find something else to occupy my time. I settle on re-bandaging my injury. It's healing steadily, so the task doesn't take me very long to finish, and I am left to my thoughts once more.

* * *

"Can you light the fire?" I ask as I finish pulling the skin away from the body of the rodent.

Zeppina makes a noise in the back of her throat as she eyes the freshly removed coat, but she nods and begins making it. I'm beginning to wonder if my first impression of her was wrong. I have no doubt that she is cunning and intelligent, but she seems much more squeamish than I had originally thought. She hasn't killed anyone in the arena, she's barely been involved in a fight for that matter, and she can hardly watch when I skin a dead animal. Maybe she doesn't have the stomach for killing. She could be like the girl from Five last year. She managed to make it that far without killing anyone. So did Amelia. Zeppina definitely could too. I hope she's not the killing type. That would make winning a little easier.

"I think we should try to cross to the forest tomorrow," Zeppina says as she walks back towards me.

I pause my cutting, turning to give the girl an incredulous look. "Why?"

"Because we can't stay here. Most of the others have probably fled the area because of the avalanche. It's safer than being here. We're too far away from everything," she says.

Her eyes dart to the mountain so quickly that I almost miss it. There isn't any safe place in the arena, and walking past the Careers _again_ sounds stupid. I want to argue with her, but I understand what her real fear is. I'd be willing to bet that the avalanche wasn't just a naturally occurring disaster. Whoever the tribute that died was, the Gamemakers probably thought they were putting too much distance between themselves and the other tributes. If we stay here, the Gamemakers will no doubt orchestrate some other event to force us together.

"Fine," I grumble, moving to the fire to cook the rodent. "But we can't climb all the way up the mountain. I don't know about you, but I don't plan on running into another mutt anytime soon."

"Going halfway up should be fine."

I doubt that, and I'm almost positive that she doesn't believe it either. But at this point, everything is dangerous so I guess it doesn't really matter.

I don't respond, letting her take my silence as agreement. Instead, I pass her some of the meat and stamp out the fire. We eat quietly in the dark area. The silence isn't as bad when there is someone near and I can distract myself with eating.

The crest appears in the sky once more. The anthem blares in the cold air as the face of one of Eleven's female tributes appears. She was the one killed in the avalanche. She is the only death for today.

Despite how exhausted I am, I don't want to sleep. I want to keep the nightmares away for just a little longer.

I look over to my ally, who looks just as weary as I feel. "I can take first watch," I say to her. "I'm not tired."

If she can tell that I'm lying⎯-and I suspect that she can⎯-she doesn't say anything or bother to point out the truth. She tells me to wake her up in a few hours before climbing into her sleeping bag⎯- _Barden's sleeping bag_. Her breathing evens out within minutes, and I can only hope that I will have the same luck when it comes time for me to sleep.

* * *

I'm shaken awake by Zeppina in the morning. The motion startles me so much that I swing my hand out towards her, my mind perceiving her as threat. She narrowly manages to avoid me, falling backward onto the rocky ground. I take a few deep breaths to calm my furiously beating heart. I wince at sharp pain that spikes across my torso, my ribs protesting the action.

Zeppina stares at me with wide eyes, her gaze flickering to the knife in my hand. I give her an abashed smile. "Sorry," I mutter.

"No problem," she says with a raise of her eyebrow. "Just remind me not to sneak up on you anytime soon."

I give a short laugh, but it sounds empty to my ears. I'm still shaken up by my nightmares and the inherent dread that comes from being in the arena. I'm sure anyone who knows me well can tell just how hollow the sound is, and I'm thankful that there's so few of those people. I hope that the others watching me don't notice. I need to keep pretending to be okay. The more unaffected I seem, the better my odds of living become. That's part of the reason the Career tributes make it through. All of the sponsors know that they relish being in the arena, and giving support is a lot simpler when you know the tribute isn't going to break under the pressure. It's a lot easier to make it out when you don't have a problem with anything that's going on.

I push myself up off the ground, trying to work out the kinks in my body. I ignore the soreness in my limbs, trying to focus on how much my health has improved over the last two nights. Even without having anything to check with, I know that the fever has disappeared entirely and that the infection is quickly on its way out. It helps me relax a little, now that I'm not worried about dropping dead.

Zeppina scampers around, going ahead to check the snares while I set about cleaning up our supplies. She returns quickly and empty-handed. It isn't a big deal though. We still have some meat left from last night as well as the food we took from the Cornucopia.

"We should eat quickly," Zeppina says. "It'll be best if we set out soon."

The sky is filled with pinks, purples, and oranges, which tells me that sun couldn't have risen more than a few minutes ago. Traveling at such an early hour seems like the best idea either of us have had in the entirety of our eight days here. Hopefully most of the Careers will still be asleep and we'll be able to cross to the forest undetected. I don't hold out too much hope.

"We can eat as we go," I say.

Zeppina seems to like this idea because she hurriedly agrees. We leave the barren area behind, heading towards the mountains to our left. I pull out a package of dried apricots when the rumbling in my stomach becomes too annoying to ignore any longer. I bite into the fruit slowly, testing out the taste.

"Never had an apricot before?" Zeppina asks as she gnaws on her own food.

I frown slightly while chewing. How did she know that? She couldn't seriously read it on my face—could she? Why do I care about this? It's not even a little important. The small frown still remains in place. Her skills of perception are a little disconcerting.

I shrug, taking another bite out of the fruit. It's actually pretty good. "No, we don't really have them back in Twelve… or if we did, they would have been really expensive," I add as an afterthought.

She gives me an understanding nod. I'm sure she's used to living on little like I am. District Six isn't as poor as Twelve, and I have a hard time believing that there are many places in Panem as bad as the Seam, but they're still one of the lower districts. A lot of this stuff is probably new to her as well. I'm curious about what her life is like in District Six, but I stop myself from asking. There's no point in getting to know her. It would just make her death that much more difficult. _Like Barden._ I immediately push the thought from my mind. Thinking about him will just make me upset again. _Anger. Focus on the anger_ , I remind myself. Anger will be productive, sadness will not.

I'm so busy focusing on the hatred I feel towards the Careers, that I barely notice what we're doing. It's nice. For once, I'm not scared-or not scared of the arena at least. I briefly note that maybe I should be a little scared of myself because a part of me is reveling in the lack of fear, looking forward to when I get to face the Careers. But the feeling is freeing, so it's hard to think about how wrong it is. Maybe I'm more like the Careers than I thought.

That makes me deflate. I don't want to be anything like them. They enjoy this. It's a power trip for them, nothing other than a way to have a little fun on the path to glory. They feel no fear of what might happen, no fear of repercussions. They have no sense of right and wrong. They are twisted and cruel, and I hate everything they stand for.

It's strange to think about it from this perspective. I envied Barden and Amelia for their innocence and desire to do the right thing, and here I am, planning the deaths of other tributes. Amelia didn't kill a single person in her Games. In fact, she saved a life. And I know that Barden has⎯- _had_ ⎯-blood on his hands, but he didn't kill any of those people because he wanted to. He did it because he wanted to survive. I want to survive too, but I know that there is a fine line between killing someone because I have to and actively planning⎯-hoping for the opportunity.

I huff out a breath through my nose, my fists clenching at my sides. The Capitol is responsible for this, for turning me into something that I never wanted to be. It's their fault that children are dead while others have been made into murderers. But aside from winning, there is nothing I can do to get back at the Capitol. I'll have to settle for going after their bloodthirsty little lapdogs. After all, that's whom the Capitol wants to win. Too bad they aren't going to get what they want.

"I think we're up high enough."

I snap my gaze forward to look at my ally and then over the side of the mountain. I squint as I look the rest of the way up, trying to block the glaring sun from my eyes. I chide myself mentally. I really haven't been paying any attention. We're almost halfway up the slope by now. We've made a lot of progress, although we still have a long way to go before we get to the forest.

"Yeah, but we'll have to be careful," I say, throwing a look down into the Careers' camp. "If we can see them clearly, then they can see us."

I'm sure she's already well aware of this, but I think it bears repeating. The mountainside isn't completely even, but the coverage will be minimal. The last thing I want is to be ambushed by them.

We continue walking in silence, only breaking it to make occasional comment about menial things. This is the most comfortable I've been around Zeppina in the time we've spent together without Barden. I'm not any closer to trusting her or to her trusting me, but there isn't any tension in the air. We never move into complete mindless conversation though. Neither of us wants that large of a distraction.

We walk until just before midday, both of us tired and in need of a break. The thin air causes fatigue to set in much sooner than it usually would. I take a seat on a large rock and pull out my water bottle. Despite the biting temperature in the air, the cold water feels good as it slides down my throat. I try not to pay too much attention to how freezing it is. I've gotten used to the burning and tingling sensations on my face that are no doubt an indication of frostbite. The pain is bearable, so it doesn't bother me that much. The pain in my ribs is much worse than that, but none of my problems are fixable at the moment, so I do my best to ignore them altogether.

A cannon sounds from above. I barely flinch this time. I've gotten used to the sound by now.

Zeppina and I both let our gazes trail down to the valley, trying to see if we can make anything out. There's no sign of a fight. The tribute must be in the mountains or the forest.

"Who do you think it was?" Zeppina asks after a moment, her eyes still trained on the Cornucopia.

"If we're lucky, one of the Careers," I reply, my mind listing off names in my head: Mace, Nerissa, Cato, Tilver… whoever killed Barden. That's who I hope it is most. But I know that it's not likely, so after a moment I add, "Who knows, though. There are still a lot of people left."

Zeppina purses her lips and nods, looking deep in thought. I mentally go over the list of tributes that are left, but it's hard to keep track when twenty-one people are dead. The only ones I know for sure are the ten Careers and Karn. My brows furrow as I try to remember anyone else, but my mind is coming up blank. So much for having a good memory.

"How many are left from your district?" I call over to Zeppina.

"Three, counting me."

I raise my eyebrows at that. The fact that District Six has only lost one tribute comes as a huge surprise to me. They usually do about as well as Twelve does in the Hunger Games. Since their district specialty is transportation, they are generally useless with weapons, and are therefore at even more of a disadvantage than most. I can only think of two Victors off the top of my head, and they only won by hiding until the rest of their competition was dead. Maybe that's what the other two from her district are doing. I wish it were what _I_ was doing.

The sound of the hovercraft approaching pulls me from my thoughts. My eyes follow its movements as it glides across the sky, stopping above the forest. It pulls the body up from between the trees and flies off in the direction it came from. My eyes drift from the forest to the Cornucopia. The tribute was probably a victim of the Careers.

A violent breeze blows across the arena, carrying a sound that makes me freeze in my seat. My ears twitch at the noise, my stomach dropping. It sounds like laughter, both high and bleating, and low and rumbling. A group. I don't need to see them to know that the voices belong to a pack of Careers. Nobody else would be having this much fun. I can't tell how many there are, but I can tell that they're close.

I shove the water bottle back into my pack and throw it over my shoulder. "Someone's coming. We need to go."

Zeppina's eyes dart around the area, but she doesn't question me. We both start walking away quickly, our pace increasing to a light jog. I glance in the direction the laughter had come from. I still can't see anything, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

"We should probably run," I urge.

She doesn't need to be told twice. We both take off, our feet moving quickly beneath us. The wind continues to blow fiercely. My breathing is loud as I struggle to suck in air, trying to fight the pain in my ribs. Our feet hit the ground loudly, each step making a distinct sound as we go, but thankfully, we're downwind. Anyone behind us shouldn't be able to hear.

I don't run as fast as I can in an effort to stay with Zeppina. She's decently fast so I don't have to slow my pace too much, but I make sure that we run steadily. If they start gaining on us, I know I will have to leave her behind. I throw another glance over my shoulder, but there is no one there. Still, we keep running, the sound of their laughter ringing distantly in my ears.

I don't know how long we run. Minutes or hours maybe⎯-it all blends together with the burning in my lungs and the pulse pounding in my ears. I try to stay alert to my surroundings, but everything we pass looks the same. The only indication of progress is that we are getting closer to the forest.

I faintly hear Zeppina gasping and then the sound of my name being called from somewhere behind me. I throw a look over my shoulder, slowing to a stop when I see Zeppina has already done so. She's hunched over, trying to regain her breath. I look around the area quickly, but find nothing. I don't expect to. Zeppina never would have stopped if she thought they were still behind us.

My own breathing is ragged as I try to force air into my lungs. The pain in my ribs is agonizing, my harsh breathing only making them throb more. But I pace back and forth, knowing that if I stop moving, the fatigue will catch up to me faster.

After a few moments, Zeppina straightens up. Her cheeks are bright red and her voice sounds breathy when she speaks. "I don't think anyone followed us. We can walk from here."

I glance to the forest and then to the direction from which we came. I conclude that she's right. If the Careers had seen us, we would know by now. They would have taunted us while we ran for our lives. Probably would have thrown one of those spears I had seen in the Cornucopia too.

I scan the forest, trying to decide where to go. My eyes land on the area that branches off the main part of the valley, the one I had noticed during the countdown. I can see it clearly from where we are. It's a continuation of the forest, but it gets thicker as it moves back, creating a small inlet of trees. It can't be more than a mile wide either way, but it's the best cover I've seen since entering the arena.

"We should head that way," I say, pointing to where the valley branches off.

Zeppina heaves out a breath and gives me a tired nod. I guess she's not used to running this much. It's probably a combination of that and the cold air that makes your chest constrict every time you try to breathe.

I pull my knife out before I start walking and she falls into step beside me. I'm on high alert as we trek across the mountain, my ears and eyes hypersensitive to everything that happens. I don't want to be caught off guard.

We reach the tree line without any difficulty. The sky is still bright with sunlight, and we haven't run into any more tributes. I take time to survey our surroundings since I didn't pay much attention to the forest last time we were here. The trees here are tall and thin, fragile looking branches extending from the small trunks. It is nothing like the forests we have in District Twelve, but the familiarity of the plants helps me relax a little. I'm surprised that they can even grow in this climate, but then I remind myself that this arena is a creation of the Capitol. They can put whatever they want in here. I hope that the increase in plant life doesn't mean the increase in wildlife.

We wander around aimlessly for an hour, but I don't mind. The smell of the trees reminds me of home, and so I focus on that. I try to conjure Mr. Fairbain's voice telling me that if I win, I'll be able to see and smell the forests of Twelve myself, that I won't have to just imagine it. I take the feeling of homesickness and turn it into anger, channeling it into my desire to win.

We finally settle down a little ways away from a small creek. I can't tell if it branches off the stream that travels through the Cornucopia, but it's not that big of a risk considering how far away we are from the center of the valley.

I look up towards the sky, trying to gage the time. I estimate that it's about three o'clock, which means it will get dark some time within the next two hours.

"If we're going to set snares tonight, we should do it soon," I say, turning to face my ally.

She's seated on her bag, staring off into the distance with her lips pressed into a firm line. No doubt calculating something in her head. She looks toward me, snapping out of her trance.

"Yeah, it'll be getting dark in a few hours," she murmurs distractedly.

My brows pull together, but I give her a quick nod. She's acting a little weird, but I have no time to worry about that. I dig into my pack, pulling out the wire. I take the extra knife from my bag as well and place it in the waistband of my pants. It couldn't hurt to be armed with two weapons.

I stand from spot and begin walking away. "I'm going to go set them up," I say, throwing a fleeting glance towards my ally.

She doesn't respond, so I keep walking. I trudge through the forest for a few minutes. I don't want to set the snares up too close to where we're camped because it will alert any tribute of our presence. The trees will make this a lot easier. I could probably even make some of the more complicated snares that I learned in the Training Center. I decide that we won't be losing much if I try them, so when I find a spot far enough away, I set about making one and then repeating the process in an area a little farther away. Satisfied with my work, I head back to camp. The sound of the stream is all that reaches my ears in the absence of wildlife. The quietness makes me paranoid, and I have to actively try not to jump at every little sound I hear. I'm probably being featured on camera right now. I can't give anything away.

I unroll my sleeping bag when I arrive back at camp. Zeppina remains in the same position I had left her in. She still seems to be thinking something over, and while I'm curious as to what, I leave her be.

 _Maybe she's plotting my death._ I roll my eyes at the thought even though it sends a shiver down my spine. They say to expect the unexpected, and if I've learned anything from the Games, it's that the saying holds a lot of truth. I could take her in a fight. I've got to have almost four inches on her, and even though I haven't exactly been well fed, I think I have some weight on her as well. Plus, I've got these two knifes. My butchering skills could definitely come in handy. If she gets too close, I know all the good spots to aim. I internally wince at the thought. I don't want to kill her. Even if I don't trust her, we've spent too much time together for me to not feel guilty over it. I don't know if she feels the same about me though. I have a feeling she's the type of person who'd have no problem stabbing me in the back—figuratively or literally—but for the time being, this alliance is mutually beneficial, so I don't think I have to worry about her just yet.

* * *

"Do you think we've caught anything yet?" Zeppina asks, finally breaking her silence. "I'm getting hungry."

The sun is just beginning to set over the far horizon, twilight fast approaching in the arena. We've been sitting in silence for the better part of two hours,maybe longer. It's hard to tell in the arena.

I'm nearly positive that we haven't caught anything. The chances of getting something this quickly in a place that isn't exactly teeming with wildlife to begin with is pretty unlikely. But almost anything would be better than this awkward silence, so I shrug and say, "I don't know. I'll go check it out."

"I can do it," Zeppina says as she pushes herself to her feet.

The expression on my face is no doubt suspicious, but I nod slowly anyway. I'm probably just being paranoid.

"There's one southwest of us, and the other is west of that."

She dips her head at me before wandering off into the wilderness, leaving me in the silence of the forest. I try to keep busy by cleaning myself with the water from the stream. It's freezing, but I know that I have dirt and dried blood on my skin, so I ignore the cold temperature. It doesn't keep me occupied for long considering that the only exposed part of me is my face, so I move on to the slashes in my arm. I apply another layer of the gel and wrap it again. I'm almost out of ointment, but the wound is healing quickly. I don't think I'll need it anymore after this. I sit back down on my sleeping bag when I'm done, trying to keep my mind empty and my focus on my surroundings.

A few minutes pass and nothing. No sound except for the running of the stream and my own breathing. Zeppina is taking longer than I would have, but that's to be expected since she didn't know where the snares are located. Sighing, I pull my knees to my chest and rest my forehead on top. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe⎯-

My head jerks up when I hear the sound a twig snapping somewhere to my left. I suck in a breath, scanning the area. It's the same direction of where I left the snares. _It's just Zeppina._ I repeat that to myself over and over, but she doesn't show up. Instead, I hear the sound again. Still, no figure appears. I sense the danger even if I don't see it _._ I bite my lip, anxiety swirling in my stomach as I push myself up off the ground and onto my feet. I swing my pack onto my shoulders and pull my knife out. I don't want to leave any of my other supplies, especially my sleeping bag, but I'm not about to be taken off guard.

Cautiously, I begin walking through the trees, my head swiveling from left to right. It's getting more difficult to see clearly in the fading light. The thicket creates shadows everywhere and the swaying trees create the illusion of people in the darkness. My heart gives a start every single time. I try to drown out the sound of my labored breathing, listening carefully for anything that sounds out of the ordinary. I faintly hear the sound of something impacting the ground. They're footsteps, but they are too heavy to belong to someone as small as Zeppina. She'd have to be stomping to make that much noise, and she's too smart to attract that kind of attention.

The snapping sounds through the air once again. It's much nearer. I grip the knife tighter, as I slink towards the source. My mind screams at me to run, but I ignore it, walking closer every second. I'm right by one of the snares now. I can make out a rodent hanging from the wire. Zeppina will be coming soon. Maybe she's heard the footsteps too. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek as I inch closer, listening for more of the sound.

I jump back when a shadow moves in front of me. I crouch down behind a tree, keeping my eyes on the place where the shadow was. There's more movement, but there is no wind to sway the trees. The silhouette is large and distinctly human. I hold my breath, afraid that my ragged breathing will alert the tribute to my presence. The form moves out of the shadows, walking towards the snare.

 _They're trying to take the animal._

I find part of myself hoping that it's a Career while the other prays it is a figment of my imagination. I don't get time to decide which I'd rather it be because I hear a second set of footsteps, these much lighter than the others.

A small figure in a red coat appears to the right of me. _Zeppina_. The shadow takes another loud step towards the snare. Zeppina's eyes snap in the direction of the noise. She pauses where she is, spotting the figure. They, however, don't notice her. They haven't moved a muscle, staying in their place within the shadows. Gingerly, I start crawling around the side of the tree, ready to attack if they move. Slowly and quietly, Zeppina reaches down towards her boot. There is the unmistakable glint of a knife as she brings her hand back up, poised to throw it at the dark outline.

I whip my head in the direction of the shadow. My eyes go wide as I take in the burly figure,its blue jacket and beige pants.

 _Karn_.

Before I know what I'm doing, I'm jumping from my spot, running directly into both tributes' line of sight.

"Wait, don't!"

I startle both of them. Karn whirls around to face me, and Zeppina lets her knife fly. The blade slices shallowly across my leg. I wince, but remain standing.

"Just wait. Don't attack." I direct the command at both of them.

Zeppina is incredulous as she stands in her spot, weaponless. "Are you crazy?" she hisses.

Yes. I must be.

"Briar? What are you doing?" Karn asks, disbelief and confusion coloring his voice. I think I hear a twinge of anger too. I swallow dryly when I catch sight of a knife glimmering in his hand. When did he pull that out?

 _Maybe this was a bad idea. I am definitely crazy._

"Why did you get in the way?" Zeppina growls. "I had a clear shot."

Karn snarls, looking ready to pounce on the small girl. He could take her down easily.

"Just hold on a second," I say, urgency filling my voice as I glance between them. Both of them glare at me. I can tell they're itching to attack.

 _What_ am _I doing?_

"We can help each other," I say, my brain supplying me with a reason for my stupidity.

"How?" Karn bites out. "Why shouldn't I just kill you guys right now?"

I narrow my eyes at the comment, heat surging through my veins. Same old Karn. I guess the arena hasn't changed him at all.

I glare at him, spitting out, "Because there's two of us and one of you. And because I just stopped her from killing you. That's why." The scowl doesn't disappear from his face, but he lowers the knife a little, which I take as progress.

Zeppina scoffs from beside me. "How exactly can he help us? He was trying to steal from us!"

Zeppina is right on many levels, but as I look over Karn's sneering form, I know exactly what he can do for us.

"He can help us against the Careers," I say, a smirk finding its way onto my face. Maybe if I give the illusion of confidence, she'll be more likely to agree.

As much as I dislike Karn, I can't deny that he's a perfect ally for facing off against tributes like the Careers. If his bravado from the Capitol is to be believed, he's just as eager to prove himself as they are, and he definitely has the physicality to match.

Zeppina, however, doesn't look convinced. She shoots Karn a glare, before facing me. "We can't trust him."

I snort and shake my head. "We can't trust anyone," I say, giving her a pointed look. I know that she will not be offended by the comment. There is no illusion of trust between us either. This is an alliance of convenience, just as one with Karn would be.

I sigh at the look on Zeppina's face. "Listen, we're at a disadvantage without Barden," I say lowly. "There are too many of them for us to take on. We'd have a hard time with just the two of us, but he's from my district. I know that he's good with weapons. He could be useful."

Zeppina tears her gaze away from me and moves it over to Karn. Her eyes flit over him, no doubt sizing him up and marking him as either a good or bad partner. I hold my breath as I wait for her to come to a verdict. I don't know what I was thinking. Even if everything I said was true, this is a stupid idea. It could end very, very badly for me. I faintly hear the sound of a camera from somewhere behind me, and I'm reminded that everyone in Panem is watching us. Everyone in Panem is seeing how stupid I am.

Karn for his part hasn't moved an inch, opting to listen to our conversation and standing quietly while Zeppina gages him. His face has shifted from a glare to the cocky look that I remember so well, and if I weren't so anxious, I'd roll my eyes at his arrogance. Either he believes that she'll agree or he's sure that he could kill us both if she doesn't. My guess would be the latter.

I turn my gaze back to Zeppina as she finishes sizing him up. Her narrowed eyes and the creases in her forehead slowly disappear, fading into a calculating look. She always makes me feel like she knows something I don't.

"Fine."

I send her a relieved smile. It disappears as soon as Karn opens his mouth.

"Wait a minute. Who says I'm okay with it? Don't I get a say in this?" he drawls out.

I fight down the urge to roll my eyes and scowl at him. You catch more flies with honey and all that. "Come on, Karn. This is beneficial for you too," I say, letting my gaze slowly drift to the food hanging in my snare before snapping my eyes back to his. "There's strength in numbers. We all have a better shot of making it to the next arena together than on our own."

I want to say that he looks worse off than Zeppina and I. He's got scratches across his face, and I can see a blood stain on his coat and pants. Plus, if he needed to steal food from my snare, then he's probably not doing too well on that front either. But I don't say any of that. He has too much pride, and insulting him would only make him turn on us. If he weren't from my district, I wouldn't even be considering this. He's a risk, but until you get near the end of the Games-⎯or are a Career⎯-there's an unspoken rule about not going after people from your own district. I mean, there have been tributes that don't care about any of that and will kill anyone to survive, but most of the time, there is very little intra-district killing. Of course, trust is still absent. But you know what they say: Better to be with them than against them.

Karn's eyes scan over Zeppina and I, and my body stiffens as I try not to flinch under his scrutiny. His blue eyes are judging just like Zeppina's, but his look is more unnerving than it is calculating. There is something in them that seems harsh and cold, and well, off, just like the people in Twelve used to say. It's a look that seems familiar, but I can't quite place it. In this moment, I remember exactly how much I dislike the boy.

"Alright," he says after a second. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. "You help me, and I'll help you."

The moment is charged, all of us glancing between each other to see who will make the first move.

"So… we should head back to camp," I say, blowing out a breath.

More silence. Zeppina throws a look at Karn before walking somewhere behind me. She's back in a second, her knife flashing in the fading sunlight. The blood trickling down my leg suddenly becomes very noticeable and very uncomfortable. I can see her watching Karn out of the corner of her eye as she makes her way towards the that I can blame her. He ranks just above the Careers in trustworthiness. And likeability.

I'd be willing to bet that Haymitch is pulling his hair out right now. He doesn't like Karn any more than I do, and he's made it very clear to me what he thinks about alliances. He's probably wondering when exactly I lost my mind, because it's pretty clear I'm not thinking straight. Sure, both Zeppina and Karn make for handy allies, but then again, so would any of the Careers. It doesn't mean I should join them.

 _What am I doing?_ I'm making all of these alliances with people I don't trust. There's rarely a day that goes by that I don't think of what happened to Amelia, or how she ended up in that situation to begin with. And yet, here I am, walking back to camp with two people I don't trust. I suppose that's just another part of the Games, though⎯-the loss of rationality, that is. Something tells me I'm going to regret this.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **So Karn is back...what is Briar thinking?! Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed it!**

 **Reviews:**

 **SlyviaHunterOfArtemis: The filler was pretty much entirely emotion-based, co cute? is just as valid as anything else lol. Curious about what your Cato hunch is... we shall see ;)**

 **WhiteEevee: Haymitch definitely knows when to make a move. I've always admired his strategic intelligence. Glad you liked the title! It was a last minute choice when I decided to split the chapter last week lol**

 **Mely-the-Mockingjay: Ahh, glad my attempt at suspense (don't know if that's the right word) is paying off. It's always hard to find a balance between giving away just enough to keep people interested and giving away too much or too little.**

 **FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: Barden will be missed. Also, love the username. Hufflepuff is a criminally underrated house. I've taken about 10 different tests and I always get Gryffindor, but Hufflepuff is always my secondary house, and I often think that would be a much more enjoyable house because I don't know if I could handle the craziness of Gryffindor lol**

 **lovewords: Yeah, while I was unsure of splitting the chapters, I ultimately felt like it helped the pacing not just plot-wise, but world wise, if that makes sense. Like, there isn't always something happening in the Games. There are lulls and times when people are left to themselves, which is part of what makes it so scary. So yeah, this happened. I totally get what you're saying about Careers being intriguing. That's a huge part of where this story even came from. One of the scenes in the books that stands out most prominently to me is when Katniss talks about how even the families of district 2 mourn their kids, and it just made me think that they're a lot more than caricatures like they sometimes seem in the books. But it also struck me how hard that would be for someone to realize if you were faced off against them and you saw nothing but their desire to kill/survive/etc... sorry that was long. Anyway... Karn has made his way out of the woodwork now! Hope you liked the return. Ahhh, it makes me so happy that it makes you miss the books. That's such a huge compliment (:**


	14. Chapter 13: Capital Offense

**Chapter 12: Capital Offense**

A small wince leaves my mouth as I inspect the cut on my leg, courtesy of Zeppina's knife. If I make it back to the Capitol, I really hope they heal these injuries, otherwise I'll be in trouble in the next arena. There's dried blood around the long red gash, but thankfully it's not deep. It's easy to fix with a little of the Capitol gel and a small bandage, but that doesn't stop the critical voice in my head telling me how much of an idiot I was. It was an incredibly stupid decision to jump out like that. If Zeppina was a better shot, I would be dead for sure. And it's a good thing Karn was caught unaware or I would probably have two knives in me right now.

"You're looking a little worse for wear. How'd you get those?" comes Karn's deep voice.

He's leaning against a tree, casually fiddling with his knife, but his eyes are on me. I fidget under his gaze, but then I realize it's not me he's looking at. Rather, he's staring at my healing wounds with a sort of fascination that makes my skin crawl. His eyes trail over the tears in my jacket sleeve and up to my face, lingering on the place the girl from Five had punched me.

"Same place everyone else in the arena gets them," I say.

I really don't want to talk about this, but the look on his face tells me he isn't going to let it go so easily. He smirks and raises an eyebrow, indicating for me to elaborate.

I huff out a breath and roll my eyes, a frown tugging at my lips. "Careers, other tributes, mutts. The usual," I say dryly.

His look of fascination continues, the smirk growing wider on his face. "Did you kill them?" he asks.

I shiver at the tone in his voice. It sounds…excited, almost. The scrutinizing look Zeppina has on her face tells me that I'm not imagining it either. It makes me wonder how many people he's killed in the arena, how many different people contributed to the blood on his jacket and pants.

"Does it matter?" I ask, hoping that my tone indicates that this conversation is over.

His chuckle unsettles me, but his face pulls into a look of innocence as he says, "Just trying to get to know my new allies, is all. I need to know if you're capable or if you're going to get me killed."

"Well we're still alive," I bite out. "I think that speaks for itself. Don't you?"

"Hmm. I suppose," he says after a moment. His eyes drift away from me and towards Zeppina. "And what about you? Can you hold your own?"

She narrows her eyes at him. I'm impressed with her ability to hold his judging gaze. He's practically leering at her, but it's not the same type of look I received from Mace. His look is predatory. Like he's determining whether or not she'll be an easy kill.

"I've made it just as far as you have," is the only thing she says.

Karn sends her one more look, before turning to me, sending me what I'm sure he thinks is a charming smile. It makes my stomach churn.

"Need any help with that?" he asks, nodding to the rodent on the ground next to me.

"No."

It comes out a little more forcefully than I intended. Karn's smile shrinks a few teeth.

The way he's looking at the animal reminds me of all the stories I had heard about him back in District Twelve. Most of them were just about his superior attitude and proclivity for punching things, but there's one story that sticks in my head now. There's an old man in the merchant village, Mr. Clive, who keeps some livestock⎯-a cow, some pigs, and a goat. It's not much, but it's more than most people in Twelve have. One of the pigs had gone missing. Most people said that he must have left the pen open, but Mr. Clive had been sure that someone took it. More specifically, that Karn had taken it. A couple days later, some kids stumbled upon it on the outskirts of town. It was dead, apparently all cut up and mutilated. Mr. Clive kept saying it was Karn, and even though everyone—even Mr. Fairbain—says that Karn is trouble, no one could ever prove anything.

I never thought about the story much, but having Karn so near, it's hard to ignore it. Especially with the way he's been eyeing my injuries and the dead rodent. I'll have to keep a closer eye on him.

We fall back into silence after that. I butcher the rodent while they both sit somewhere off to the side, no doubt eyeing each other wearily. Or maybe Karn is smirking. I don't look up from the meat to check, but I decide that it's most likely the case.

"We need to light the fire soon," Zeppina says, breaking the silence.

I pause what I'm doing and look up at the fake sky. Darkness is creeping up quickly, and unless we want to lead the Careers straight to us, we need to do as Zeppina suggests. Even with the addition of Karn and my growing hostility towards the Career tributes, I don't want to draw them in so that we can be tested on just how good or bad my idea was.

"I'm almost done. You can start it now," I say, going back to cutting up the fat rodent. I wish we had these things in District Twelve. They have a lot of meat on them for being so small.

"You still have the flint?" I ask Zeppina, who sends me a droll look as if to show how ridiculous of a question that is.

"Karn, can you get some wood for the fire?" I ask without bothering to look over at him.

He grunts, but instead of the snide comment I'm expecting, I hear the sound of snow crunching. He walks in front of me and through the trees to collect some branches as Zeppina rummages through her backpack.

"There's something off about him," Zeppina says as soon as Karn is out of earshot.

"He's…" I pause, struggling to find a way to put this because the truth is, I completely agree with her. "He's just a little… enthusiastic."

"That's not it, and you know it. I can tell that he makes you uncomfortable too."

Had I really been that obvious? No, she's just better at reading people than most. Still, the comment makes my stomach drop. If I can't bring myself to be passably comfortable around him, then how can I expect her to?

I sigh and look over to the girl, who's staring back at me with a serious expression. "I know that he's not… particularly likeable, but I meant what I said earlier about the Careers. Let's face it, they'll probably be looking for us because we stole from their supplies, and without Barden…" Zeppina's face drops slightly at that. She may be willing to do whatever it takes to survive, but I know that she misses Barden at least a little. "Even if we can take care of ourselves, it's better to have someone like Karn in case the Careers do come looking."

 _For me, that is._ They don't know I'm in an alliance with Zeppina, and she ran from the Cornucopia before any of them could get a good look at her. There's no question in my mind that she's just as aware of this as I am.

"Yeah, but⎯-" Zeppina pauses, her head snapping to the side. "Did you hear that?"

"No. Hear what?"

Almost as if on cue, I hear a scream. Zeppina and I look at each other with panic. There's another scream, but it's cut short, and the sound of a cannon fills the air. My heart beats rapidly as I scan the trees, but I can't make anything out within them. The image of a muttation fills my mind, and a pit of worry forms in my stomach. The scream sounded close, and there's no telling who it was or why they were screaming. Are the Careers near? Was it Karn? I think it came from the direction he went in, but I can't be sure.

The hovercraft confirms my suspicions. The buzzing noises and the glowing lights make it easy to spot in the darkening sky. It's near us, and right along the path that Karn had disappeared down. It flies away after a few seconds, and we are plunged into silence once again.

"Who do you think it was?" Zeppina asks.

"I don't know, but maybe we should…" I trail off when a figure emerges from between the trees. I can see the dark soak of blood from head to toe. It stands in stark contrast to the beige pants and the whites of Karn's teeth as he saunters back towards us with a large smirk on his face.

I swallow thickly as I scan him. There is no doubt that he killed that tribute. And there's no doubt that he is happy about it. The dangerous glint has returned full force. I almost want to run away from him as he struts forward. Zeppina visibly flinches when she spots all of the blood on his clothes. There was only one cannon, so I know that he only killed one tribute, but his jacket and pants are covered. It's a lot of blood for one person. How violent had the fight been for him to make the tribute lose that much blood? The question makes bile rise in my throat.

Karn looks at the two of us, seeming to just realize our presence.

"Are you…" I pause, trying to find my voice as I look over the bloody boy. "What happened?"

"Someone got in my way," he says. "Don't worry, he's dead."

His eyes shine with something I can't quite name, but it makes my stomach churn nonetheless.

"I've got the firewood," he says after a moment of tense silence.

He drops it onto the ground with a loud _thunk_. I stare at the pile for a second, before pulling my gaze towards Zeppina. The look she sends me is easy to read, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she walks towards the pile with the flint and starts the fire.

We cook the meat quickly, and we eat it even more quickly. The rumbling in my stomach reminds me that I haven't eaten since dawn. Karn doesn't bother trying the savor the food; he shovels it into his mouth at an alarming rate. I'm mildly concerned that he's not chewing and will end up choking on it. _But only mildly._ I mostly try not to look at him. He still has blood on his face, which he hasn't attempted to wipe off. He doesn't seem to mind it at all.

We get moving after that, looking for a place to stay that's not near the fire or the area where Karn killed the tribute. We walk in a single file line, following the stream until one of us picks a spot that seems suitable. None of us dare to speak. We're already making enough noise as it is. The direction we are heading in moves further and further away from the Cornucopia, but I remain on high alert. There are too many tributes unaccounted for, and it's possible that someone heard the boy scream.

The anthem blares above as we walk. My feet maintain their movement, but I keep my eyes on the screen as the faces of tributes begin to appear. The first is a boy from Six, followed by a girl from Eight. One of the twelve year olds, I realize after a moment. I had forgotten she was still in it. My chest tightens when I think about how unfair it is that she was here to begin with.

I suddenly realize that the boy was from Six, from Zeppina's district. I drop back slightly, letting Karn take the lead.

"Did you know him well?" I ask, falling into step with her.

Her eyes flit to me quickly before she returns her gaze forward. "No, not at all," comes her brief reply.

I hadn't expected her to say yes. She doesn't strike me as the type of person who gets close to many, let alone someone she knows she's going to have to kill. The conversation reminds me of the one we had on the first night when it had been Collis and Thalia's faces in the sky. I hadn't known them either, but I was still affected by their deaths. There's a certain sense of camaraderie between people from the same district. It may be weak, but it's there nonetheless. Zeppina's face tells me that she's feeling the effects of that. I'm sure she hates Karn even more now than ever.

We wander in silence for half an hour, stopping somewhere farther back in the small woodland outlet.

"This should be good for tonight," I say surveying the area. It looks the same as everywhere else in the forest. The only difference is that it looks like the stream runs across the base of the mountain from here on out.

Both Karn and Zeppina nod at me.

Zeppina's eyes move to me for a second before she looks away and she says, "Let me set up the snares first. We'll have a better chance of catching something by morning."

My lips tug down slightly as I eye the fidgeting girl. She looks uncomfortable, but I can't put a reason to it. I know that she doesn't trust Karn⎯-or me for that matter-⎯but she isn't looking at either of us. Her eyes are flickering over the surrounding area, like she's scanning them for something.

I pull out the wire from my backpack and hand it to her. She takes it and mumbles a quiet thank you before she starts walking off into the woods. Before she gets too far away, she stops and throws a look over her shoulder, and we lock eyes. Something flashes over her face, but it's gone before I can decipher it. She faces forward again and walks deeper into the trees.

My brows furrow as I watch her retreating form, but I'm forced to look away when I hear something impact harshly with the ground. I whip my head to side and stare for a moment before rolling my eyes at Karn who is now sprawled over across the snow.

I really, really don't like him.

I unroll my sleeping bag against the trunk of a tree and lean back against it, clutching my knife in my hand and trying to ignore the biting wind. I close my eyes as I try not to think about going back to the Capitol. I can't get too ahead of myself, no matter how badly I want to leave this place. But it's difficult not to when there isn't anything to distract me. The only other sounds that can be heard are Karn's shuffling against the snow and the low whistling of the wind. It's easy to lose myself in my own thoughts.

"Where's your friend?" Karn calls over to me, breaking my trance.

I open my eyes and look around, my gaze finding nothing but the trees. I purse my lips, my eyebrows pulling together. Where _is_ she? I haven't exactly been keeping time, but I know that she's been gone for a while. Longer than she should be. Is she in danger? I doubt she's gotten lost; she's too smart for that. I think back to the look she sent me right before she left, and I realize what it meant.

"She's not coming back," I tell him.

Morning does not come quickly for me, and when it finally does, I'm exhausted. The nightmares and the fear are reaching an all time high, and it's getting harder and harder to act like it isn't getting to me. Sleeping with Karn so near proved itself to be a nearly impossible task, especially with Zeppina's absence.

I'm positive that she won't be returning, that this is the end of our alliance. My chest tightens with feelings of betrayal, but I push them down. I have no right to feel betrayed. She has every right to do whatever she needs to do to survive. If the situations were reversed, I would have done the same thing. Karn has been nothing but unsettling, and for someone who has never really seen him before, it's only natural that she felt so uneasy around him. Even with growing up in the same district as him, seeing him almost every day, and spending a week with him in the Capitol, he still makes my skin crawl. And after last night… I can't blame her for wanting to get away as soon as possible.

I stand and let my gaze drift over to the boy in question. He's wide-awake, fiddling with his knife just as he was doing last night. His face is turned down, so I can't see the expression on it, but I'm partially relieved by this. I don't want to see the look in his eyes. I can see all the blood clearly in the sunlight. It sticks to his clothes, making them look as if his jacket is almost black and his pants red rather than the blue and beige they actually are. Some of it has leaked onto the snow surrounding him, but none of it has been wiped from his face. I don't really know what to make of him right now, but he didn't try to kill me in the middle of the night, so I guess that's a good sign.

It's still early morning, the sky painted with the colors of sunrise. The early hour doesn't bother me. It's another clear day, and it gives me more time to figure everything out now that Zeppina's gone. I'm glad that we saved some of the food from last night, because it's going to be impossible to make a snare without the wire. I curse myself for not seeing Zeppina's plan earlier and keeping some of it for myself. Food might become a problem, and I doubt that Karn's got any ideas on how to fix this, so I'll have to think of something. I hope Karn likes greens, because it seems like we'll be eating plants from here on out. I don't want to share my dried fruit with him.

Sighing, I pull the canister from my backpack and pop it open, removing a few pieces of meat before calling over to Karn. "You should take some food now, and we can eat as we move. It's safer that way."

Karn stares blankly at me for second, and I wonder if he's heard a single word I said, but then he puts his knife away and stands.

"Move where?" he asks. "Is that what you and your little friend have been doing this whole time? Wandering around aimlessly?"

I scowl at his derisive tone. The nine days in the arena that I spent away from him let me forget how rude he is.

"Yes, that's what we did," I say. "It's never a good idea to stay in one spot too long. You might as well just hand yourself over to another tribute."

The corner of his mouth tugs up into a smirk and a single brow moves up his forehead as he says, "Sounds like a waste of energy to me."

I scoff slightly. If the blood on his clothes weren't an indicator of his ability to kill, I'd seriously wonder how he managed to survive this long with how stupid he is.

"Well it's worked for me so far, considering I'm still alive and all," I say, tossing him the small pot of meat.

He catches it easily. "Shouldn't we be looking for other tributes?" he asks, a small sneer filling his features.

I balk at the question. Unfortunately, when I scan his face I see no sign to indicate that he's joking. His face is neutral, his eyes continue to shine with that same disconcerting look.

I'm sputtering as I stare at the boy, and I can't keep the look of disbelief from my face. "Why…" I shake my head. _What is wrong with him?_ "Why would we do that?"

"You're the one who wanted me to help against the Careers," he replies. He says it like he's talking to a child, and I scowl at him.

"Yeah, but I meant in case we run into them. I didn't mean that we go hunt them down ourselves. I'm trying to be prepared not…not stupid. Why would we put ourselves in that situation?"

He narrows his eyes, and I instinctively take a step back. He doesn't respond though. Probably because he knows that I'm right. Sure, just yesterday I was hoping for a chance to kill the Careers, but that didn't involve walking up to them and handing myself over. How has Karn managed to survive this long with ideas like that?

It makes me curious as to what he's been doing this whole time, but I don't ask. I'm a little afraid to hear the answer.

"So, where exactly are we going?" Karn asks after a moment, his face once again impassive.

I relax, but only marginally. He makes me more nervous by the second. Of course, he seems completely unaware of the effect he's having. He takes a bite out of the leftover rodent meat. At least he seems to be chewing today.

I contemplate his question for a moment, trying to shut down the fear gnawing at my stomach. "Away from here," I say, gesturing vaguely to the forest around me. "The Careers travel in groups and I have no doubt that one of them is going to come looking over here today. They'll know there are people here thanks to the hovercraft from last night. Considering no one has found us yet, they're likely to keep looking until they find someone. Plus, there's already twenty-two dead. I'm sure they're eager to get out of here and onto the next round. They'll probably hunt like crazy today."

He makes a sound deep in his throat, and I catch a glimpse of something in his eye. In the daylight, I can finally place why it seems so familiar. It's the same sort of crazed look the girl from Five had in her eye. Not quite the same as when she attacked me, but the look I remember from reaping day⎯-the look of someone who will no doubt crack under the pressure. It's a good thing the arena is almost over with. If we both live, I make a mental note to steer clear of him in the second arena.

We get moving a few minutes later, after I've finished packing everything up. For the most part, we walk in tense silence. I eye Karn every few seconds even though I want nothing more than to look away from him. He's definitely acting strange, and it's not the same type of strange Zeppina was acting yesterday, or even the way he was acting back in the Capitol. He's more difficult to read this time. It's not just arrogance on his face anymore, though there's still plenty of that. I keep coming back to the girl from Five, and how similar their looks are. It makes me regret this alliance more and more every second. But I couldn't just let Zeppina kill him. As much as I try to justify all the killing I'm going to have to do myself, I don't know how I could return back to District Twelve after I had let one of my allies kill one of my district partners, no matter how much I don't like him.

We decide⎯-and by we I mean I did while Karn grunted something unintelligible⎯-to climb back up the mountain and go around the back part of the forest. It's near the area of the avalanche though, so I decide that it's probably best to not travel farther than halfway up. The last thing I want is to die by getting buried in the snow because the Gamemakers thought I wasn't close enough to the fun.

Even though the sun shines brightly in the sky, the temperature is colder than it has been most days. Even with the numbness that has set in over the past few days, I feel the frigid air as it bites at my skin. It makes me think that the Gamemakers want to end this arena too. They're trying to motivate us to get a move on by making the conditions unbearable. I guess that's why there's no snow.

We're close to the halfway mark of the slope when we encounter our first predicament. Despite all the snow on the ground, the terrain is extremely rocky and it's taken us a few hours to make such little progress. Bits and pieces of the ground come loose with every step I take, and it's even worse for Karn. He's a lot larger than I am, and the strain he puts on the ground is too much for it to hold him. This makes me more anxious than I already was. Every step I take is with extreme caution, my muscles tense with every movement.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Karn calls out from behind me.

I toss him a look over my shoulder and shake my head. "Nope, but what in the arena is?" I ask as I stumble slightly, the earth giving out and causing my foot to slide.

"This looks like a landslide waiting to happen," he says.

As annoying as Karn is, I have to agree with his point. If the surface can barely hold me, it's definitely not going to be able to hold him for much longer. And if he causes a landslide, he's going to take me down with him. I peer down the slope as my mind conjures up images of what would happen. I swallow heavily as I look at the distance it would throw me. I'd most likely die, and on the off chance that I somehow managed to survive, I'd definitely be too injured to do anything. I'd be a sitting duck for anyone to kill. Or the Gamemakers would find a way to put me out of my misery. Either way, I wouldn't make it out of this arena alive.

I bite my lip and turn back to face the boy. "We could go back down a couple feet, just about a hundred feet from the ground. It should be enough to slow anyone down."

Karn doesn't respond, instead opting to start making his way down the slope. I stand there, staring after him for a moment, before rolling my eyes and following him. Karn grunts as he stomps down the mountain, the sound of rocks sliding accompanying every step.

"Is this seriously what you've been doing this whole time? Climbing these mountains?"

I take a deep breath, glaring at the back of his head. Are we really having this conversation again? "Yes, Karn, this is what I've been doing this whole time," I say as I catch up with him. "What difference does it make?"

He grunts again and doesn't reply. _Okay. Guess that conversation is over._

An hour later, we're back down to the bottom of the mountain, only about a hundred feet over the forest. I can see the stream clearly from here. The land is a lot steadier, so I figure that traveling here will be safe for the time being, at least until we reach the other side of the forest. I make sure to keep a little distance away from Karn. I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head a lot more frequently than I would like. It makes the hair on my neck stand on end and my stomach clench uncomfortably.

We both pause when the sound of yelling reaches our ears. I clench my knife tightly while I listen. I can't distinguish anything that's being said, only the faint sound of whooping and hollering. The noise is muted by the wind, and I can't see anyone in the surrounding area, so I know that they are not close. Maybe the Careers have finally decided to start killing each other. A small smirk finds it way onto my face at the thought. Maybe they could sacrifice two of them and then we could all get out of here. I throw a glance at Karn who simply shrugs.

We continue walking, the sound of the yelling fading in and out every so often. It goes on like that for a few minutes, and I seriously start to wonder what's going on down there. That is, until a cannon goes off.

I look around the area, but still there is nothing. I wait for another cannon, hope swelling up in my chest, but again, nothing. I let out a sigh. Of course it wouldn't be that easy.

"It's a shame," I call over to my ally. "If they had managed to kill whoever they were fighting, then we'd…" I pause, a chill running up my spine when I turn to look at Karn.

My heart thuds painfully inside my chest when I meet his eyes. He's already looking at me, or rather, staring at me with that crazed look in his eye.

"Karn?" I swallow heavily, my pulse beating faster with every second. "Karn, is everything okay?" I ask. My voice sounds shaky to my own ears.

Karn gives a strange sort of half smirk at the question, his eyes never stopping their scan of my body. "That was cannon twenty-three," he says, taking a large step forward. I swallow and take a step back. "That means only one other person has to die and then I get to leave. I could win this."

I can't bring me feet to move. "Yeah, yeah, you could," I choke out. "We just have to hold out a little longer."

"I don't think you understand," he says lowly, taking another step towards me.

"I do⎯-"

"I could win this whole thing. Go home. There's only one person standing between me and the Capitol."

I don't even have time to breathe before he's running at me. He rams into me, and I crash onto the ground, my knife flying from my hand. My head slams back and everything goes black for a few seconds. All the air leaves my lungs in a _whoosh._ I feel as if someone has dropped a boulder on my chest, and it's crushing me, making it impossible to breathe. The pain in my head and my chest is enough to make me disoriented.

I let out a strangled cry when something sharp pierces my shoulder. The excruciating pain surges through my whole body, pulling me out of my confusion. My vision is splotchy, but I can make out the figure on top of me. I can hear the softly spoken whisper of, "Just one more," over my gasping breaths.

I let out another scream when Karn yanks the knife from my flesh, warm blood spilling out and soaking my shoulder. _He's trying to kill me._

"Karn! Stop! Please!" I beg.

It's no use.

"Shut up!" he yells with a rough jerk of my body.

His fist collides with my face, and my head snaps to the side with the impact. Warm iron fills my mouth. _He's going to kill me._

I choke on the pool of blood in my mouth, a gurgling cough leaving my lips. I spit the warm liquid at my attacker. He growls and raises his fist up again. My hand shoots up before his comes down, and I claw at his face, trying to get him off me. His knife slashes across my arm as we grapple. I gasp, my hand slipping from his face.

It's no use. He's got me pinned beneath him, one leg on either side. He's too strong for me to push off. But I have to survive. My body thrums with adrenaline, my mind screaming at me to _get him off! Get him off!_

I grip his shoulders and whip my head up, colliding with his face. I yank to the side as soon as we make contact. The earth beneath us gives at the pressure. He falls to the side, and I scramble away. I hack out another cough as I try to pull myself to my feet. I'm too slow.

Karn lunges for me. We collide again, but we don't stop moving when my back hits the ground. We fly down the slope, my body smacking against the hard surface with every tumble. The air is knocked from my lungs repeatedly. I'm dizzy, pain blossoming in every limb.

I skid across the ground, my momentum carrying me into the stream. I gasp when the cold water hits me. My body stills when I roll onto my back. Something digs painfully into my spine, but I don't stop to consider it. I sit up.

I'm immediately thrown back down. Karn hovers over me, a deranged smirk aimed in my direction. There's still blood all over his face. I have no time to move before he straddles me, and I know that my blood will soon join it.

"Please," I choke out. "Don't do this."

"I told you to shut up!" he screams.

My heart rate spikes as his hands close around my throat and force me down into the shallow stream. The water rushes over my head and into my mouth. My throat burns and I hack beneath the water. Bubbles float to the surface as I search desperately for oxygen. I kick and thrash beneath him, but he doesn't move.

My vision begins to go black around the edges. I'm out of air. I continue to struggle, but his grip around my neck only grows tighter. The fight is draining from my body. _I'm going to die._

My limbs are overcome with a heaviness that leaves me barely twitching beneath the boy. I watch hazily as another bubble leaves my lips and floats to the surface. I can feel my consciousness slipping. The pressure is crushing, my chest caving in on itself. But it's a dull pain.

It's like the pain digging into my back, I think lazily. Why did I put my knife there? It's uncomfortable.

Through my haze, I'm struck with a realization. _The other knife!_ It's still stuck in the waistband of my pants. I use what little energy I have left to slide my hand underneath me. I grasp frantically for the knife. My fingers close around the hilt, and I no longer have to command my body to move.

My hand swings up towards Karn. The knife meets something hard, but I don't stop pushing. I drive the blade forward and twist.

I hear something from above, but it is thick and muted in my ears. The grip on my throat loosens when I yank the knife back. I stab again, and the hands disappear completely. There is a splash beside me and freedom above me.

I shoot up from the stream, gasping for air. I crawl frantically away, violently hacking up water with every movement. I don't dare stop. _Survive_ , my mind screams. _Survive. Survive. Survive._

I don't move very far. My limbs refuse to cooperate. They're made of lead, and my lungs are on fire. I'm so tired. I hear muffled gasping, but I can't tell if it belongs to Karn or me. _He's going to catch me. I'm going to die._

I prepare myself for the blow, but there's nothing. Slowly, I crane my head over my shoulder to look behind me. I can just make him out through my blurred vision. He lies in the stream, motionless.

I stagger to my feet and walk towards him. I sway with every step, unconsciousness threatening to take over. I realize that the wheezing is coming from him. I blink rapidly, trying the clear the blur of red from my vision as I get closer. It won't go away.

I collapse on the ground a few feet away and look him over. My eyes land on his right arm. The blur of red remains, but I know that no amount of blinking will make it disappear. Dark liquid seeps from beneath his arm as he lies gasping in pain.

I tighten my grip on the knife. I hadn't realized I was still holding it. Slowly, I crawl closer to his body.

Too much red, too much blood. I've hit an artery. He won't live. I'm not afraid of him now.

Carefully, I look over the boy one last time. His eyes are no longer filled with madness. Now they are only clouded in pain. He looks right through me. I raise the knife up and plunge it into his chest.

He gasps and twitches, and then nothing. His eyes are not filled with madness or pain. They're empty.

Shakily, I release my grip on the knife and start to crawl away. I'm still heaving, every action drowning me in pain. I can't move anymore.

I lay down. I just need to rest for a little. I see yellows and blues above me that grow fainter with every second. I'm so tired. There is a loud _boom,_ and everything is plunged into darkness as unconsciousness pulls me under.

I distantly hear the steady sound of beeping. Everything remains black. I don't want to open my eyes. I like how blank my mind is, filled with nothing but a rhythmic _beep. Beep. Beep._

If only things were always like this-⎯so quiet. It's nice to not be afraid for a little while. Why can't the Games always be like this?

 _The Games!_

My eyes snap open and I bolt up, but I meet resistance. The first thing I see is a blinding light. It forces me to squint as I inspect where I am, the beeping from earlier having increased to a much quicker rhythm.

My stomach clenches at the unfamiliar surroundings. I try to get up from where I lay, but it's impossible to move, seeing as I'm strapped down, forced to stay in my reclined position. Anxiety claws at my insides, and it's only made worse by my confusion. The room I'm in is white⎯-completely, glaringly white. It looks sterile, and reeks of chemicals, the scent making me gag. Everything about it feels entirely unnatural. There is nothing except for the bed I'm in, a cabinet in the corner, a door on the far end of the room, and the source of the beeping. I furrow my brows, scanning the area to find the origin of the noise.

I don't have to look far. My eyes fall on a large white machine sitting next to me. My heart pounds and the beeping increases when I realize that I'm hooked up to it. It's an IV, or at least I think it is. I've never seen one before. I twist my body to get a better look at the machine, but pause when the action causes me no discomfort.

I frown, my eyebrows pulling together when I test my movement again. No pain. My eyes trail over my arm, the source of most of my trouble in the arena. And once again, there's nothing. There's barely a light scarring.

I look over the arm not attached to the IV to find it blank as well. Even the place where Karn had stabbed… I swallow thickly, everything coming back to me in a rush.

 _Karn. The stream. Drowning. Stabbing him._ Killing _him._

I did kill him, right? Or is he still alive?

My breath comes in quick bursts, and my pulse thrums in my ears, mixing with the loud and ever increasing beeping.

Something slams, and my head whips around. Standing in the doorway is a man dressed in a white lab coat. He smiles brightly at me from his place.

"Welcome back to the Capitol, tribute Kinross."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **AHHHHHHHHHHHH THE FIRST ARENA IS OVER AND KARN IS DEAD AND BRIAR KILLED HIM! NOW WE'RE APPROACHING THE SECOND ARENA AND DRAMA AND CATO AND AHHHHHHHHH!**

 **Was that too excessive?**

 **Reviews:**

 **GreenOnBlack: Its a shame, isn't? People often fail to learn from other's mistakes**

 **lovewords: Zeppina has been planning her escape lol. She's a planner, that Zeppina. Briar's decision to let Karn in felt a bit like a microcosm of every decision in the Games when you're trying to survive. It all seems to walk the line of crazy and necessary. Cato's coming, keep an eye out!**

 **WhiteEevee: Briar isn't thinking straight at the moment lol. Or at least, what we, as people not in imminent danger, view as straight thinking. Creepy is definitely the right word to describe Karn.**

 **FriendlyNeighborHoodHufflepuff: It did, in fact, bite Briar in the butt. I wonder what she'll do now. Ah, curse fanfiction's limited character. Still a great username even if its not exactly what you want.**

 **SlyviaHungerOfArtemis: Growling at Karn is seems the best reaction. But you know, now that he's dead, you don't have to growl. Or maybe you'll have someone else to growl at...**

 **AH, hope you guys liked it!**


	15. Chapter 14: The Drawing Board

**Chapter 14: The Drawing Board**

 _The Capitol. I'm alive. I'm actually back._

My stomach twists in a mixture of relief and apprehension. Now that I know where I am, the sterile room and the fast healing injuries make a lot more sense. The hovercraft must have come to pick me up after the fight with Karn... I shake my head, trying to clear it of the thought. I can't think about that, at least not now.

The man's smile doesn't abate at my lack of response. "It's nice to see that you're awake. I was afraid I was going to have to do it myself," he says, the grin never leaving his face. "We are on a tight schedule, as I'm sure you understand. The Games must go on," he pronounces in his high, grating Capitol accent. "Oh, and I'm sorry for the restraints." He points to the strap around my waist. "It's just a precaution."

My insides clench again, but I stamp down my nervousness. "How long have I been here?" I croak out.

The action tickles my throat. It feels scratchy, and my mouth feels like cotton. I'm suddenly desperate for water to soothe the raw ache. I'm about to ask for some, but the man walks out of the room without answering my first question or giving me time to speak further. I'd call after him if I thought I'd be of any use, but I know it won't. Someone will have to come get me eventually. The Games aren't over, and they'll be wanting their tribute.

A minute or two passes with me staring at the bright lights above me, my gaze only breaking when I hear shuffling. I turn my gaze back to the door to see that the man has returned, this time carrying a tray.

"Sorry about that. I thought you might be hungry," he says while walking towards me.

He places the tray on the bed beside me and undoes the bindings around my arms. I take the cup of water and down it eagerly. The cold liquid brings me instant relief as it fills my mouth and soothes my throat. I don't touch the rest of the food.

"To answer your question, you've been back in the Capitol for just shy of two days. You arrived late Monday afternoon, and it's just before noon on Wednesday."

No wonder my throat feels so scratchy. I haven't been using it the past two days. Images of Karn wrapping his hands around my neck fill my mind, and I instinctively reach a hand up to feel the skin. It feels tender, but only just barely.

"You've managed to heal quite nicely," he says, jerking his head towards the area I'm currently inspecting. "You had some quite horrendous bruising there, but you can barely see it now," he tells me with a bright grin that's almost as white as the lights in the room, as if that's supposed to make me feel better.

"You also hit your head quite hard near the end there, but I assure you, there's no lasting damage. Your arm caused a bit more trouble. The muttation did some real damage to the tissue. But it was really quite a show. We were all so surprised when you managed to kill it⎯-surprised in a good way, of course," he gushes as he undoes the restraint around my waist. I don't bother replying. I'm distracted enough by the simmering in my blood, and the effort it's taking to not yell at him. "Well anyway, your mentors will be on their way soon."

He begins walking out of the room, but stops and turns back to me before he's out the door. "I suggest you eat something," he tells me, nodding at the tray. "You're going to need all the strength you can get before the next round."

He's out the door with that, leaving me alone in the impossibly clean room. I can't keep the scowl off my face now that he's gone. I don't even want to think about the second arena. I can barely wrap my head around the fact that I managed to make it out of the first one. The only thing I want to do right now is talk to Haymitch and get some answers about what happened after my fight with Karn. I know that I must have passed out, but I can't piece everything about the fight together. The only clear picture I have is of Karn lunging for me. The man must have been right about how hard I hit my head, because everything else is a blur, and I can't be sure of what happened and what my mind is making up. The man's comment about the bruising on my neck tells me that Karn did really try to drown me, but did I actually kill him?

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The sense of betrayal I feel is unlike anything I've ever experienced. My face flushes when I think about how stupid I was to think that Karn wouldn't go after me, even after I saw the crazed look in his eye. I never understood how the Careers could turn on each other so easily, how they could target people from their own districts⎯-even when it was near the end of the Games and they were close to winning. The whole idea always disgusted me. But I spent half the training week comparing Karn to the Careers. I was foolish to not see it coming, but I never expected that district loyalty could mean so little to someone from District Twelve, to someone who should understand just how sick these Games are. My teeth grind together and my muscles tighten. I want nothing more than to hit something, but I can't move from this bed with the IVs still in my arm. It only makes me angrier. If Barden hadn't been killed, none of this would have happened. I wouldn't have asked Karn to be in an alliance, and he wouldn't have tried to kill me. If Haymitch had sent me some damn medicine, everything would be different. I purse my lips, my hand tapping my leg in impatience. I need to talk to Haymitch.

The smell of something savory fills my nostrils, and I look down at the tray of food I had forgotten about. I begrudgingly admit that the man in the lab coat is right. Even if I don't want to think about the Games, I should eat. Ignoring them isn't going to make them go away.

Sighing, I pull the plate onto my lap and begin eating it with more aggression than necessary. It's good: lamb with some type of gravy and vegetables. The menial task helps me to calm down a little, the anger raging inside me turning to a low simmer. I eat slowly, trying to enjoy the food as much as I can. It's starting to feel heavy in my stomach. It's hearty, and I can barely get through half of the small portion before I feel like I've eaten too much.

I don't have to find anything else to occupy myself with when I finish, because there's a sharp rap on the door, and then it swings open, revealing my perpetually disheveled mentor.

He stands in the doorway for a moment before sending me a sardonic smile. "Welcome back, kid. It's nice of you to finally join us."

I say nothing in response, the anger and embarrassment I feel over the situation with Karn flaring up inside me once more.

He raises his eyebrow at my lack of response and says, "Well, it's nice to see you too."

I'm in no mood for fake pleasantries or sarcastic remarks. "Why?" I ask. I try to keep my face neutral, but I can feel the heat burning in my cheeks.

"Why what?" he asks, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Anger surges through me, my heart beating faster in my chest. The beeping machine grows louder. "Were you too busy to pay attention during the arena? Or did you just not care?"

Both eyebrows shoot up at that. "And what exactly was I so uncaring about?"

I let out a bitter laugh and shake my head. "After that mutt attacked us. You had to know that the Gamemakers did something to the claws. You could have done something, Haymitch," I seethe. "Sent medicine, a first aid kit, even a damn band-aid. But no, you just sat back and did nothing. Barden would still be alive if we hadn't gone to the Cornucopia."

"It wasn't my idea to go to the Cornucopia, kid. That was decided between you three," he replies, his mouth pulling into a thin line. I can hear the increase in his breathing and see the heat rising to his cheeks.

"It didn't ever _have_ to be a decision! Not if we had medicine! You left me with no choice unless I wanted to die!"

Haymitch's face is carefully blank, but he's fuming just like me. Even the part of me that knows how unfair I'm being doesn't seem to care. Fair or unfair, I'm furious. I feel a sense of satisfaction at his increasing ire. _Good, now he understands how I feel._

"Alright, kid, I thought you were smarter than this, but apparently I was wrong. I'm only going to explain this once, so listen closely," he says slowly, his gaze unwavering. "My job as a mentor for District Twelve is to help tributes from District _Twelve_. That means controlling the gifts so that you have the best chance of staying alive. He wasn't my tribute to look after. My job is to mentor _you_ : to make sure that _you_ make it out of the arena, not him, not any other tributes."

"And letting us go to the Cornucopia was the way to do that? How would that⎯-"

"Just say what your real problem is, kid. We have other things we need to get to," he bites out.

Everything he says is muted beneath the buzzing in my ears. "My problem? My problem is that none of this needed to happen!" I splutter. "Barden didn't have to die! We could have both made it out, Zeppina wouldn't have left, and nothing with Karn would have happened. We could have… we could have been partners in the second arena, or⎯"

"You were never going to be partnered with him-⎯with either of them. Being in an alliance assured that. You know how these Games work. They don't want to see friends working together. They want to see them kill each other."

He's says the words so quietly that I barely hear them. There's a charged silence in the room. I don't know how to respond to that. Haymitch sighs. His cheeks are still tinged with red, but his expression becomes somber. "I'm not your enemy here, Briar."

It's like all the air is pulled from my lungs and sucked from the room. My head falls back onto the bed, and I suddenly feel exhausted. I _know_ that Haymitch is right, that nothing would have worked out like I just said it would. But it's like my mind can't accept that fact that I'm so powerless in all of this. I want to believe that it's Haymitch's fault, because then I could do something about it. I could find some way to make it right. But the feeling of helplessness creeps up anyway, and the truth is that I'm just looking for someone to take my frustration out on.

The beeping machine grows quieter as Haymitch's words sink in. I know that he is not my enemy. In the end, everything comes back to the Capitol.

That's what the Games are to them⎯a way to show us that we're powerless. No matter what we do, they're always going to win. I have to stop being so sensitive if I want to prove them wrong. There is no use in thinking of what-ifs and pretending that things could be different.

I suck in a breath and try to ease the tension in my muscles. My face is no longer set in a scowl as I look at my mentor. I don't know what to say. I want to apologize for blaming this on him even when I know that it's not his fault, but the words won't come. I bite my lip as I try to think of anything to say, but Haymitch waves a hand, effectively cutting off any thoughts I might have had.

"Don't worry about it, kid," he says.

I'm struck with more guilt at his apparent understanding. I don't know why, but it's too easy for me to forget that he's been through all of this before.

"Now that that's dealt with, let's move on to something else. If you're really serious about winning this, we need to start preparing you for the second arena."

I cut in before he can continue. "Wait… I just need to know for sure." He stares at me expectantly when the sentence drops. "Karn," I add, glancing down at my shoulder and then back to my mentor. "Is he dead?"

"Yes," he tells me. I search his face, but there is nothing there. It's carefully devoid of any emotion.

I swallow shakily, a myriad of feelings churning inside of me. So I really did kill him. Some sick part of me is relieved, glad that he's dead. He tried to kill me. Nearly succeeded, I remind myself, my hand reaching up to touch my throat. But I killed him. He's my first real kill in the arena, unless I'm technically responsible for the death of the crazed girl from Five. I don't let myself feel any sadness over his death, at least not for now. He was clearly losing it. Whether it was because of the Games or his own twisted mind doesn't matter. He went after me first. I only did it because I had to. Still, I know that if I think about it for too long, the remorse and guilt of taking a life will set in, so I try to push him from my thoughts. Right now I need to worry about what's coming, not what's happened.

"Who's left?" I ask.

Haymitch shakes his head slightly. "Hold on, we'll get there. First we need to-⎯"

Whatever he was about to say is cut off by the door swinging open, revealing a smiling, pink mass. _Effie_.

She practically skips into the room. "Oh, Briar, dear. How are you feeling?" she asks, a look of concern replacing the bright grin when she gets a good look at me. It looks out of place on her made-up face. She doesn't give me time to answer, but I know that the sentiment is real because I'm pretty sure I can spot tears in her eyes. I didn't think I looked that bad.

"I'm sure you're just thrilled to be back in the Capitol. Just look at how far you've made it!" I think she's trying to comfort me. She runs over to give me a hug, but I'm helpless to return it thanks to the IVs. She pouts, huffing out a breath and turning to my mentor. "Haymitch, why is she still strapped to this bed? We need to get her up so that we can help her prepare for tonight."

My stomach drops and my eyebrows pull together as I glance between Haymitch and Effie. "What's going on tonight?"

"Why, the drawing, of course," Effie exclaims. I guess that explains why the doctor said he'd have to wake me up. "You'll be finding out who your partner is." She turns to Haymitch, a look of exasperation covering her features. "Have you not informed her of any of this? How do you expect her to be at her best, if she's not even aware of what's going on?"

Haymitch rolls his eyes and mockingly grumbles, "My apologies." He doesn't point out that he was about to explain it to me before she came bursting into the room.

"Well I guess I shall explain tonight's events to her then." Effie harrumphs and turns to me, pulling a grin into place. "All of the remaining tributes will be brought out on stage with Caesar, and you'll watch a recap of the Games. Following that, you will be placed into pairs, and Caesar will do a brief interview with each. Cinna will help you get ready, as always," she says with a pat on my arm.

I cringe instinctively, my body still expecting any contact on the once injured area to be painful. I remain tense even though I feel no pain. Apprehension builds in me thanks to her words. Even here in the Capitol, the Games do not rest, which means that I don't either. Whomever I get put with tonight could mean the difference between living and dying. How well we sell ourselves as a team will either make or break us in the arena.

 _God, the second arena._ I'll be back there in just a couple days. How many exactly until I have to start fighting for my life again?

"What happens after that?" I ask, anxiety prickling at every nerve ending in my body. I want to get out of this stupid bed.

"You'll have tomorrow to train with your partner," Haymitch answers. "But you just get the one day. You go back into the arena on Friday."

My new resolve to survive at any cost doesn't lessen the terror that seizes my chest. Two days. A day and a half really. That's all I have before people start hunting me down again. I have to go through everything again, and this time, I'll have even less of a chance of making it out alive. I almost wish that we never had to return to the Capitol, that we stayed in the arena this whole time, because I don't know how I'm going to rein in the strength to go through all of this a second time.

I blow out a breath and ask, "Can someone get me out of this bed so that we can get this over with?"

My prep team is already waiting for us by the time the elevator doors open to the penthouse in the Training Center. They all rush over to me, singing their praises about how well I did in the arena. I want to remind them that I almost died three times, and that nothing is over yet, but I know that mentioning my imminent trip to the second arena and my possible death will dampen the mood, so I don't say anything. Instead, I stand quietly while they scuttle around me, picking at my body and muttering comments about the work Cinna will have to do.

My designer is nowhere to be seen, and neither are Katniss or Peeta. I look around for them, but aside from Haymitch, Effie, and my team, the room is empty. My stomach sinks at their absence. My need to have them here comes as a surprise to me even though it probably shouldn't. I underestimated just how much their support means to me. My lips tug down slightly, and I turn to my mentor.

"Where's everyone else?"

Haymitch turns to me from his spot at the bar. "Doing some press for their upcoming wedding," he grunts before taking a drink.

I feel slightly relieved at that. They haven't deserted me. They're being put on display just as much as the rest of us. I wonder how much of that they've been doing since coming back to the Capitol. I'd be amazed if they even had time to watch the Games⎯-even as mentors. I'm sure the people are beside themselves with having the so-called 'lethal lovers' back and on display for their prying eyes. I roll my eyes and clench my fist tightly at the idea. Only they could find such excitement in a wedding while they watch children getting slaughtered for their entertainment.

I let out a yelp, my thoughts effectively cut off by Garric pinching at my side. I snap my head towards him, and he sends me a brief apology before muttering to Clio about how skinny I am. I frown slightly at that. I was only in the arena for ten days. I couldn't have lost that much weight.

"We've got a lot of work to do and not much time to do it," Petronia sighs out dramatically.

"It'll be a challenge, but we can do it," Garric agrees. He looks over to me and sends me a bright grin that looks incredibly awkward on his fish-like face. "You'll look beautiful. Don't you worry for a second."

I'm not concerned. In fact, I don't care much about how I look, but I keep my mouth shut and let them drag me away to what had been my room two weeks ago. The process is the same as it had been before the parade and the first interview. I thought that I would enjoy the simple things more after being in the arena, that I could put up with something so non-threatening. It turns out that I have even less patience for this than before. Now I really know how meaningless it is. This time I can barely restrain myself from snapping at them every time they pull at my hair or say something offensive, even if well intentioned. They have no idea what it's like in there. It must be nice to be so naïve.

They pull me in front of the mirror when they're finished to show me the final product. My nails are reshaped and painted black, and my hair is straightened, half of it pulled back and streaked with gold. My makeup takes my breath away. I barely recognize myself. The only word I can use to describe how I look is "formidable." I still have the same bird-like features they created earlier, but the design is not simple anymore. I look fierce, angry, almost⎯-like I'm ready to take down anyone who gets in my way. I think it's fitting.

I tell them thank you with as much sincerity as I can. They've made me look strong, and if I'm going to have to go out there again, that's exactly what I need to be.

"You look incredible."

I pivot on the spot, a small smile tugging at my lips when my eyes fall on Cinna. He walks over to me and places both hands on my shoulders, inspecting my face.

He taps my chin and offers me a soft smile of his own. "Truly," he says. "You look like the fighter that you are."

"Thank you," I breathe out, my heart giving a sharp tug at his words. I know that Cinna wouldn't say them if he didn't mean it.

"Now you just need the right dress to match," he says as he walks over to the bed where the garment has been laid out.

He unzips the bag and tells me to turn around so that I don't see the dress before it's on. I do as instructed, raising my arms so that my team can pull it over my head. I glance down at his newest creation. I already know that it's going to be amazing.

I'm not wrong. The dress is stunning. It's shorter than all the others I've worn, falling a few inches above my knees. The fabric that touches my skin is soft, and it clings to my frame when Cinna zippers it. It's heavy but not uncomfortable. Nothing about it looks soft though. The outside of the dress is layered in gold plates that gleam like metal. They overlap each other, giving the impression of feathers. The skirt flares out slightly at the bottom, the layering making it appear jagged and sharp. A similar technique is used around my shoulders. The dress is still reminiscent of the canary theme, but I know that my image has changed. I'm not just meant to be a girl in a pretty dress. I'm a warrior dressed in her armor, showing the Capitol people that I'm not going down without a fight.

I turn to my designer, a grin splitting my face. "It's perfect."

He smiles in return and gives a small laugh at my compliment. "I had a feeling you'd like it," he says, grabbing my hand and helping me into my shoes.

I frown at the size of the heel, knowing that I'm going to be spending a large portion of my time trying to stay on my feet. But I can't complain. Cinna's done more for me than I could ever ask of him.

My designer grabs my arm and leads me out the room. I distantly hear the sound of chatter as we walk. The conversation is loud, and there are certainly more people than just Haymitch and Effie. We round the corner, my eyes landing on Katniss and Peeta. Relief surges through me at the sight of them.

Everyone is dressed up for tonight, and I watch for a few moments as they animatedly discuss something with Haymitch, but my silent appraisal is cut off by Effie's squeal.

"You look marvelous! Simply stunning," she says, walking towards me.

She draws the attention of everyone else in the room, all of their eyes turning toward me.

"Welcome back, Briar," Peeta says, breaking away from the group and coming over to hug me. "You look great."

I mumble a quick thank you and return the hug before pulling back. Katniss stands off to the side, but she sends me a small nod in acknowledgement. Both her and Haymitch's cheeks are tinged with red, their shoulders hunched. They're practically radiating tension. I frown and look at Peeta. He doesn't look angry like they do. He looks more tired than anything. I realize that whatever conversation I had interrupted had not been a pleasant one. I wonder if it has anything to do with the press they were doing for the wedding. I wrinkle my nose at the thought of putting my relationship on display for the entire country. That'd probably put me in a bad mood too.

"Now, there are some things we need to go over before we head down," Effie says, effectively breaking the tension in the room. "Now, it's just like the first interview, with the exception of a few minor changes. You're going to stand in order of your district and they will call you all out onto the stage," she tells me. "Caesar will announce the remaining tributes, you'll have the recap, and then they will announce the pairings. When Caesar calls your name, you will join your partner for a brief interview. The way you act is of the utmost importance. You want to make sure that you compliment your partner in the best way possible."

I frown at that. I don't know how I'm supposed to play a certain angle. The sponsors already know what everyone's like, there's no use in pretending anymore.

"That means you have to at least pretend to be okay with it," Haymitch adds. "No over the top reactions. No glaring, no big smile," — _thank God—_ "just play it cool. Let them think you're confident in your alliance."

He's essentially telling me to seem like I don't care, like it doesn't matter to me who my partner is because I know that I can do this, that I'll win. I nod. I can do indifferent.

"And remember what I told you about sitting up straight and not sighing," Effie adds. Those two will be a little more difficult.

Haymitch rolls his eyes. "It's not just about you now. You've got to make an impression as a team. You've got to make the sponsors believe that you and whoever your partner is can win."

Cinna smiles and takes my arm again before saying, "I think she's got it. We should start heading down now."

Everyone agrees and we get in the elevator. I can feel the tension in the air as the car descends, taking me to my next step in the Games. It feels strange to be by myself now, to not have any of the other tributes with me. I didn't notice it before, but having other kids from my district helped me feel a little calmer. In a way, I guess all of this was easier knowing that they were going through the same thing I was. But they're dead now, and if I don't put all of my energy into making myself look as capable as possible, I will be too.

The thought makes it impossible to listen to Effie's ramblings, no matter how hard I try. I can't focus with the way my stomach is twisting itself into knots. I don't like this rule change. In the next few hours, my chances of winning are either going to skyrocket or plummet into nothing. I don't want an alliance that I haven't chosen of my own volition, and I certainly don't want to rely on someone or have someone else rely on me in the arena. It complicates things. Sure, having a partner generally increases your chances of survival, but I have a feeling that it won't be the case under these circumstances. We're all being forced to work with people we don't like and that we certainly don't trust. It's a disaster waiting to happen. There are so many different things that could go wrong, and any hope I have of going home could be over in a second.

The doors slide open with a _ding._ My entrance backstage is nothing like it had been during the first interview. Nerves had been the controlling factor then, all the tributes and their teams too busy trying to prepare as much as they could before the interviews. But there isn't much of that to do now, so when I step out of the elevator all eyes turn to me, everyone eager to see who the newest arrival is. I feel small under their scrutiny, but I try my best not to show it. I keep my face neutral and step out of the elevator. I recognize a few faces here or there, but I don't let myself focus on them, not even when I briefly catch Zeppina's eye. I keep my gaze trained on my team as I walk to my place in line and when they give me their final good luck before disappearing to their seats. Even if I wanted to see who my competition is, it's impossible because I can't see clearly from my spot in the back of the line.

I distantly hear the sound of someone counting down. My stomach feels like it's tearing itself apart. I have no idea what to expect when I get out there. I have no doubt that the audience will be as enthusiastic as ever or that Caesar will crack some cheesy joke, but aside from that, nothing is a given. I'm dreading watching the recap. I don't want to watch children die. I just want to get this over with. But more than that, I'm nervous about finding out whom my partner is going to be. Even if they're randomly selected, chances are I'll end up with a Career, considering they make up half of the remaining tributes. Maybe that's for the best, though. I can't let myself be bothered by them if I plan on winning. Even if I don't like them, I can at least admit that they're the most capable tributes. They don't win almost every year based on luck. Being partnered with one of them is my best chance at making it out alive.

The countdown ends and music begins to blare throughout the City Circle. I turn my eyes to a screen to the left of me, following the gazes of the other people in the room. I resist the urge to wipe my sweaty hands on my dress when Caesar waltzes on stage with his too bright smile and equally bright suit.

"Welcome! Welcome, everyone!" Caesar says with a dramatic wave of his hands and an outrageous laugh. "What an exciting night we have ahead of us. I bet you're all just as excited as I am. Am I right?" he asks the audience. The cheer they give in response is so loud that it practically shakes the stage. "I for one, can't believe just how crazy these Games have been so far. The Quarter Quell is certainly living up to expectations. I'm sure none of you can wait to see what happens next. So why don't we get started by welcoming our remaining tributes!" The crowd cheers wildly.

This is an important moment for all of us. With the amount of tributes in the arena, I hadn't been able to keep track of who was still alive, but now is the time for all of us to see whom our remaining competition is. I'll have to pay close attention.

I can barely hear the sound of the name being called, but I immediately recognize Mace as he saunters on stage. I was really hoping the second to last cannon had belonged to him. I feel sick as I watch Tilver follow him on stage. I really hope I'm not partnered with either of them. The girls from One, Ivory and Topaz, take the stage to the sound of more cheering. I tense when Caesar calls Cato to the stage. He struts with confidence, and I surprisingly find myself a little jealous of how uncaring he is. This would be a lot easier if I were like him. The girls from his district have no problem emulating him as they walk out looking just as dauntless.

My eyes narrow when the next name is called and Fuse walks out. He doesn't look nearly as intimidating as the tributes from One and Two, but I still don't like him. A girl from Three follows, looking entirely terrified, and after that comes a boy from Four and Nerissa, who look the complete opposite of the girl who had come before them. Nerissa's smirk makes my stomach twist, but I force myself to listen to the remaining announcements instead of thinking about how she wants to kill me. I don't recognize the girl from Five or the boy from Six that follow, but I watch the screen unblinkingly when Zeppina takes the stage. She looks just as cunning as ever. I wonder if she's guessed what happened in the arena between Karn and I.

As much as I want to pay attention, I find myself distracted by the roaring of the crowd. I miss the calling of the tributes after the two Capitol favorites from Seven take the stage. My heart is pounding furiously against my ribs when the girl in front of me is called. I shakily follow her out when I hear my own name. I try to focus on my steps and ignore the sound of the screams coming from the audience. It's impossible to block them out. Their piercing screams fill my ears and the flashing lights of the cameras make me feel disoriented to the point that I almost walk right past my seat. If the tribute in front of me hadn't stopped moving, I definitely would have kept walking. I'm sure the audience would find it hysterical. I wouldn't. The last thing I need is for sponsors or my future partner to think I'm stupid, and therefore a liability. I hate being on camera.

I take a seat as the cheers die down and Caesar begins to speak again.

"Look at this group of tributes. Aren't they just amazing?" he asks. He turns towards us and says, "Congratulations on making it to the second round of the Quarter Quell. You should all feel very proud of your accomplishments." The pitch in the circle increases with that. They all know what's coming next when Caesar turns back towards the audience. "How about we watch some of them now? Let's watch the recap!"

Everything goes dark and silent for a moment, and I start to panic because I can't see anything, but a second later the screen to my right lights up. I want to look away, but I remind myself that everyone is watching this, paying attention to our reactions. I need to look good, and I need to get a better look at my competition. I take a deep breath and try to steady myself. This is going to be a long night.

The recap opens with the reapings, and then it shows glimpses of the parade and the training center. I don't really pay attention until I see us rising on the platforms. I feel strange, almost detached watching this now because I know that it isn't over yet, but that's precisely why I have to pay attention. The camera pans over all of our faces, showing our responses to seeing the arena and beginning the Games. The differences in our expressions are immense⎯-and by our, I mean the Careers and the rest of us. All of them are practically smiling, no trace of fear in their eyes. That's not the case for the other tributes. Most look ready to be sick. I'm no exception. I'm disappointed in how scared I look as I survey the arena. It's no wonder I had so few sponsors. I'll have to act better in the next arena.

My stomach drops and I flinch when the sound of an explosion bursts from the speakers. Just like I had done in the arena, I stare dumbly at the screen for a moment, not quite processing what I just saw. Smoke emerges from the plate, all of us looking over confusedly. Our expressions would be comical if the situation weren't so depressing. It's clear to me now that the tribute⎯-a girl from Seven-⎯stepped off the podium early, intentionally⎯-or at least it looks like she did. My chest tightens at the thought. She did it on purpose, either so afraid or so convinced that she would die that she decided to take her death into her own hands. Anger surges through me when I glance out into the audience. They don't care that it's their fault. It's because of them that this happened-⎯because of their stupid Games. Everything about this place makes me angry.

I'm forced to put my anger on the backburner when the countdown ends and the Games begin. I get my first viewing of the bloodbath as the tributes sprint towards it to get the weapons lined up against it. A camera briefly covers me running towards the lake and narrowly avoiding the knife. I suddenly feel less upset over the crazed girl from Five's death, and incredibly grateful that she lacked any knife skills.

A lot of tributes sprint away from the Cornucopia, but the bloodbath is still brutal. I feel bile rise in my throat as I watch the Careers slaughter their weaker opponents. Thalia is one of the first to go, killed by the dead male tribute from Four. One of the girls from Two kills Collis with a mace to the head, and I fight with myself to stay still even though the anger is pushing me to do something, anything to her. The rage and nausea I feel quickly turns into a tightening in my chest when I see Barden flash on screen. I was right in thinking that his fight with the boy from Two was interesting. Intense is the only way to describe it. They both prove themselves to be strong opponents, but of course, only one makes it out. It's over quicker than I would have thought with Barden stabbing him in the chest and taking off, leaving everyone else to fight it out.

Surprisingly, the bloodbath ends quicker than most years. I hadn't accounted for so many of the tributes fleeing the area. The camera pans over the bodies of the dead children. The smell of blood fills my nostrils even though there's none in sight. I resist the urge to gag. The scent is ingrained deep in my brain now⎯-far deeper than working with dead animals could ever do. I'm disgusted. I don't know how anyone watches this.

The next portion of the recap follows the remaining tributes, giving everyone a brief period on camera for the people to know that we're still alive. They can't focus on that for too long though, because the show is only three hours, and they'll want to focus on the highlights.

Then comes the Careers and their hunting. I try to block out most of it. I already know everything I need to about them. For the most part, I'm successful in my attempt to ignore them, but my eyes are glued to the screen when morning dawns on the arena. Predictably, the camera shifts to Zeppina and I when the girl from Five and the rat-boy from Ten ambush us. The fight looks just as violent and painful as I remember it. I cringe when I watch myself stab the girl in the side, and I'm pretty sure I hear the audience gasp when Barden plunges his sword through the boy.

Our alliance is featured for a while. The whole thing makes me uneasy, because I know that it will draw the attention of my competitors. When we aren't being shown, the footage follows the Careers since the action mainly centers on them. There are a few shots here and there of the other tributes, but those mostly consist of survival techniques, which the Capitol no doubt found boring. The recap basically reveals everything that would have been a secret to the other tributes. We can all see each other's strengths and weaknesses.

The camera flashes to Karn and relief floods me over the fact that he's dead. I stare as he kills the girl from Five and then later a boy from Eight **.** He's incredibly cruel, drawing out their deaths in the bloodiest way possible.

I find my eyes drifting towards my team whenever something particularly gruesome comes on screen. It's even harder to watch than I imagined it would be, and yet none of it surprises me. It still makes me feel disgusted, but instead of getting upset, I find it fueling my anger. That is, until I hear the familiar sound of hissing reverberate throughout the City Circle. I focus on the floor in front of me when I hear Nox's screams, but I force myself to look up when my voice plays over the speakers. They'll be watching for my reaction.

Everything happens much slower than it had felt at the time. All the feelings of anxiety build up inside me and threaten to bubble over as I watch us run from the beast, despite the fact that I'm in no danger now. The City Circle is quiet except of the sound of our harsh breathing and the noises of the mutt coming from the speakers. All of my competitors are transfixed, having no knowledge of this event. I wince sharply when I watch myself fly through the air and bounce down the hill, the audience cringing right along with me. The next few seconds of footage only make me more tense while I battle with the tree trunk for the sword. Despite the fact that the Capitol citizens have all seen this before, I hear gasps resound when I free the sword and swing it at the mutt.

I look over to my fellow tributes as the screen shows me plunging the weapon into the beast and the fight comes to an end. Some of them are watching with blank expressions, others look mildly interested, and some have their brows furrowed and their lips pressed into a thin line, no doubt surprised by the outcome. A couple of them even throw a few glances my way, no doubt wondering how I'm still alive. I know that I've just been bumped up on the list of threats. I have to look back towards the screen when Cato shoots me a dark look laced with something I can't quite name. Maybe disbelief, or maybe anger. He always looks angry.

I don't pay much attention after that, despite knowing that I probably should. My eyes remain focused on the screen, but I might as well be unable to see it. It's mainly footage of me, my arm infection getting a nice close up. I can feel the eyes of the other tributes on me as the next day plays out: going to the Cornucopia, stealing from the Careers, and, of course, the fight. My skin feels too hot, and it's a struggle to remain still while I watch myself break away from Tilver and run towards Barden. My scream of his name is shrill and desperate⎯-probably even pathetic to some-⎯but I'm not focused on my own reaction. I stare unblinkingly at the face of his killer, the girl holding the knife.

 _Ivory_. My head snaps towards the girl from One, my face contorting into a glare. She glances at me, her own eyes narrowing. I don't care how stupid of a move this is. My blood is boiling as I watch her lips twitch with a light smile. The intensity of my anger surprises me a little. It burns through my veins long after the fight ends and I tear my eyes away from Ivory, my fists continuously clenching and unclenching at my sides. I want to kill her. I want to make her pay for what she did. The only way to beat the Capitol might be to win, but she is at least liable for Barden's death.

I keep my eyes on screen, but everything's a blur of color, my brain barely processing anything I see. Everything in the background fades to a low roar. I can't tune it out completely though, because I know I'm about to become the star of the recap in just a few minutes. I wonder how the audience is going to react to seeing the footage, how my competitors will react. Maybe it'll help me with my partner-⎯if they know that I'm capable of getting the job done, they might be more willing to work together.

I don't have to wait long to find out because before I know it, they're showing Zeppina and I meeting Karn in the woods and forming an alliance. I become more and more restless as the minutes tick by. They only show the important parts after that. Karn killing the boy from Six gets a long shot. I can't help the gasp that slips past my lips as he beats the boy. It's the worst type of overkill, and I can feel my food coming back up.

Thankfully it's over soon and then they show Zeppina leaving, Karn and I heading to the mountain, the twenty-third death. Turns out it was one of Careers, the boy from Four that volunteered. I don't have the opportunity to be even remotely happy about his death because gasps break out across the audience. The sound of Karn slamming into me and the impact I make with the ground is audible, and I wince at the memory of how much it hurt. As much as I don't want to watch, I can't seem to pull my eyes away from my former district partner as we grapple and roll down the hill.

The City Circle falls silent when he ignores my begging and wraps his hands around my throat, submerging me beneath the icy water. I want to curse myself for my blatant display of fear, to tell myself not to show that in the next arena, but I can't bring myself to be ashamed as I watch my body twitch under his large form. I shouldn't be embarrassed about wanting to live or being scared of someone trying to kill me. It's _normal_. The Games haven't taken all of my humanity yet.

It's clear that Karn had none left though. I feel sick at the sight of the concentration on his face. In a way it's worse than the smirk he constantly wore. He was dead set on killing me. I'm lucky to be alive.

Everything remains covered in a blanket of silence when my hand emerges from the water and the knife is stabbed into his side. My strike is right under his armpit, right into an artery. There's no way he would have lived without immediate medical attention. The thought doesn't stop me from cringing when I plunge the knife into his chest a few moments later. My fingers twitch at my sides. The screen goes black with the sound of the final cannon.

The air is quiet for a few more seconds before Caesar's voice reverberates throughout the Circle.

"Wow!" he exclaims, smiling excitedly as his head whips between the audience and us tributes. "Wasn't that just incredible? There were so many amazing moments in there. And watching them again… Chills."

I remind myself not to roll my eyes on national television. There wasn't anything incredible about that.

"I don't know how we're going to top that in the second arena, but if anyone can do it, I'm sure it's our tributes," he says. "Let's give them a hand!" The audience breaks into raucous cheers at that, and my fists clench tightly at my sides.

"Now, I know that I'm not the only one excited to hear what they have to say about the arena⎯-or should I say arenas-⎯but there's something we need to do first. I'm sure you all know what that is," he says to the audience. "How could anyone forget with this year being the Quarter Quell?"

The crowd resumes their screaming, and my palms begin to sweat again as my stomach twists.

"To remind anyone that may have forgotten, one change for this year's Quarter Quell states that the tributes will be randomly divided into pairs for the second arena in honor of Panem's unity. Then they'll battle it out for the title of Victor."

I almost snort at that. I wonder if anyone else is thinking about how ironic those last two sentences are. I look over the florescent, beaming audience. The people at home might acknowledge it, but it's completely lost on the Capitol citizens.

"I can't stand the suspense anymore," Caesar all but shouts out. "So why don't we get right into it. I'm sure you're all eager to find out as well," he says, turning towards us.

I swallow thickly, and I see some of my competitors shift nervously beside me. I don't want to know, but at the same time, I just want to get it over with. I want this all to end.

"Let's begin!"

The screen lights up once again, all of our faces appearing for everyone to see. I can practically feel the tension in the air when the pictures begin the jumble around, becoming nothing but a blur. We're all silent as we wait. I don't think I'd be capable of speaking even if I wanted to.

The screen becomes blank and then suddenly two faces appear. My stomach drops and the audience goes wild.

"Well look at this first pairing-⎯District One's Topaz and Rowan from District Seven!"

They make their way towards Caesar, taking any confidence I had with them. The audience is enthralled by the pair, as they should be. I don't listen to what they say because it doesn't matter. They're two of the strongest tributes here, both Capitol favorites. They'll be rolling in sponsors. I bite down on my lip. _No, I can still do this._ It's only one pairing. Separate or together, it doesn't matter. I can still win.

The next pairing to be called is a girl from Two and a girl from Nine. Two doesn't look happy. That seems to be the case from the next two pairings that are called containing Careers-⎯Tilver and the other girl from Three, and the remaining boy from Four and a boy from Ten. They all smile while the audience goes wild and Caesar beams at them, but I can tell that they're anything but happy about being paired with tributes from outlying districts.

My anxiety doesn't lessen any as the faces of the next alliance appear on screen, and they make their way towards Caesar. The people that fill the Circle are beside themselves with excitement, but it only makes me feel worse when I look out at their artificial faces or catch sight of the cameras broadcasting this across Panem. I wonder what Mabel and Mr. Fairbain think of all of this, who they're hoping my partner is. They're going to find out soon enough.

"District Eleven's Keld and District Five's Elysia!" Caesar calls out as their brief interview comes to an end and they walk back to stand in the line of pairings. "I don't know about you folks, but I'm getting more and more excited with every reveal. This next arena is going to be so thrilling. I just know it. Now let's get on to the next pair, shall we?"

I follow the familiar jumble of lines and color, the contents of my stomach steadily making their way higher and higher up my throat. Everything stops for a moment, and I freeze in my seat when the screen stops moving. My stomach plummets.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Ahhhh, a cliffhanger. Sorry. Also, sorry this was late, but I've started school again and we all know how that is... I'm going to keep trying to post on Fridays, but bare with me if they're a day or so late.**

 **LetriceDeChoc: I agree, the books were definitely more effective in showing the arena, mainly because they could give an indepth look at her pysche and what it was like during all the lulls. Does Zeppina like Briar? lol It's a bit more like begrudging respect, though even that might be pushing it.**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Hmmm, this hunch of yours...**

 **Mely-the-Mockingjay: Eh, you don't really have to feel bad about Karn. He wasn't too great of a guy.**

 **FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: those are very good words for Karn, I'd say.**

 **WhiteEevee: Sadist? Yes. Dead? Also yes. Funny how people seem to not hear the alarm bells, huh? Always falling down slopes, yes. But what can I say, Briar just rolls like that... that was bad.**

 **Hope you liked it!**


	16. Chapter 15: Two Lies and a Truth

**Chapter 15: Two Lies and a Truth**

"Well, look at this! Come on up you two, come on up," Caesar says, waving his hand excitedly in our direction.

My body seems incapable of moving as I stare, unblinking, at the screen. _This can't be happening._ But no matter how many times I shake my head, the image remains the same. _This_ is _happening._ My eyes flit over towards my team, and I think I make out Haymitch giving me a small nod. I don't even have time to contemplate his lack of surprise. He wants me to move. I swallow thickly.

Slowly, I rise from my seat. I remind myself to hold my head up as Effie said. I have to convince them that this doesn't bother me. This means nothing.

 _This means everything_.

I look to the person moving a few feet away from me. _Cato_. I almost stumble, the harsh look in on his face sending a jolt up my spine, but I continue walking, hoping that no one can tell how uneasy I am. I force a smile on my face when I reach our host, my partner stepping up beside me.

"What a turn of events this is!" Caesar calls out to the audience, before turning to us. "At the start of these Games, who would have thought you two would be partnered together? Isn't this crazy, folks? District Twelve's Briar Kinross and District Two's Cato Hadley!" The pitch of the audience is hysterical. This is more drama than they could have hoped for.

I take a deep breath to steady myself, trying to loosen the tension in my body. Cato, for his part, looks the picture of ease. He's smirking and his stance is relaxed, but his eyes give him away. He's not happy with this either.

Caesar caters to the audience for a moment longer before becoming serious and saying, "The last arena was full of so many twists and turns. Cato, we saw your dominance at the Cornucopia and throughout the following days, but I have to say, Briar, you really surprised. So many struggles you endured. Such resilience. The muttation, infection, having someone from your own district turn on you… How are you feeling about going back into the arena?"

 _Angry. Anxious. Nervous. Sick. Everything, but excited._

"It's hard to say, Caesar. I feel like I never left." It's not a joke, but the audience laughs like it is. "But I'm ready. I know that I⎯we⎯can do this." _Lie_.

"And you, Cato?"

Cato's smirk widens and his relaxed posture disappears. He stands at attention, like he's ready to pounce at any moment. He instantly becomes the threat I know him to be.

"I can't say anything different, Caesar. I'm just as ready to get started. I'm eager to win," he says. He's not lying.

"Now," Caesar pauses, leaning in conspiratorially, "how do you two feel about this partnership? Can we expect you two to put the history aside and work together as a team?"

I glance towards Cato, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. Remembering what Haymitch said about looking indifferent, I give a light shrug and smirk.

"I'm glad to have him on my side, Caesar." _Lie_. "Cato's worthy competition, and I think I've proven that I'm not going to go down easily either. It'll make winning that much easier," I finish with another smirk. The crowd cheers loudly.

I hope Haymitch is happy. I don't think I can pretend to be much more confident than that.

"Anything to add, Cato?" Caesar asks when the audience dies down.

"I think she's said it all, Caesar. The past is the past. We're both here to win, and I'd say we have a pretty good shot."

"I'd have to agree," Caesar says and the buzzer sounds. "I wish you both the best of luck in the arena. Cato, from District Two and District Twelve's Briar!"

I'm left with a feeling of dread as we walk to the end of the line of tributes, our movements tense despite our fake levity from moments earlier. I've never had to worry about working with someone I didn't like back home. Aside from Mr. Fairbain, there wasn't really anyone I talked to on a regular basis. I didn't have to rely on anyone but myself, but now I do. My life pretty much depends on how well I can work with someone who wants me dead⎯and someone whose death I was actively wishing for just days ago.

The irony of that person being Cato, when Amelia's alliance with his brother resulted in her death, is not lost on me. This is a cruel joke, something to really drive the audience into frenzy. Based on their reaction, I'd say it's working.

Peeta's words from the train echo in my head. ' _They just want a good show.'_

That's the problem, though. To me⎯to anyone who's ever been in the arena⎯this isn't a show. This is about survival, and if I want to win, I know that I'm going to have to set aside any hatred I feel towards Cato and his brother and actually try to work with him.

But judging by the hard look on his face, the coldness in his blue eyes, I don't know if that's even an option. I don't know how much of what he said to Caesar about the past being the past is true, but I think it's safe to say he doubts I've spoken even a single word of truth. I'd say there's a good chance he was lying as much as I was. He wants this partnership just as much as I do, which means this is going to be even more difficult than I originally thought. I don't know if winning is a possibility now. We might kill each other first.

Standing next to Cato is almost as bad as being in the arena. Actually, it feels exactly like being there. I'm half expecting him to attack me minute I turn my back, but I doubt that'd look good on live television. He doesn't look over to me as we stand beside each other watching the drawing, which has me feeling a small sense of relief. Partner or not, I don't want to show him any weakness. He doesn't say anything either, but I can practically feel the anger rolling off of him in waves. I'm not much better though.

The few minutes that have passed since our faces appeared on screen have lessened my dread and replaced it with a burning sense of outrage. But I don't show it. I just stand there, keeping my eyes on the sparkling lights of Caesar's suit, pretending that I'm perfectly okay. I think I'm doing a pretty good job, because nobody on my team signals for me to do anything or fix my behavior whenever I look towards them.

The fervor in the City Circle has died down a little since the pairing of Cato and I together. It makes sense, considering our "connection" was such a big story before the Games. I take their response as a good thing for now. As much trouble as this alliance could cause me in the arena, it should be beneficial here in the Capitol. It could mean sponsors, which could mean survival, and that's the only thing I care about right now.

I don't see the point in focusing on the other pairs, so I pay minimal attention to the rest of the announcement. Effie will no doubt force me to watch a recap of the ceremony later tonight. I'm eager to find out what people think about this, what they think our odds of winning are. If we manage not to kill each other first, he'll certainly help my chances. That is, of course, unless his arrogance gets in the way. Arrogance can kill in the arena just as much as a weapon or infection, and it's one thing Cato's got in abundance. My stomach tightens when I think about what they might say about me, if they'll say that I'll hurt Cato's chances of winning. There's enough tension between us as it is. I really don't need anymore.

I only start paying attention again when the remaining tributes dwindle down to a small group. There are only four people left now, and when the screen lights up again, it shows the faces of Zeppina and her partner, a boy from Eight named Jute. He didn't do anything particularly noteworthy during the recap and he doesn't look like much of a threat, but he's managed to survive this long, which speaks for itself. I already know not to underestimate Zeppina. She may not be the most immediate threat, but she knows enough about self-preservation to keep her on my radar. And she did get an eight in training.

Of course, their partnership leaves two people standing, and it's this, the final alliance of the night that causes my stomach to turn and my skin to prickle. It's worse than being paired with Cato⎯or it's at least as bad. There's no way this was random _._ I refuse to believe it. There's no way the odds are this stacked against me.

"Mace and Nerissa, your final alliance of the Quarter Quell and the seventy-fifth Hunger Games!" Caesar cheers, and I internally wince. Even Cato tenses beside me.

They make their way towards Caesar for their interview, but my thoughts consume most of my attention, and I only catch a word here or there. This is ridiculous. It's unfair, but then again, I guess everything about the Games is. The two of them are deadly enough on their own, but together? I don't really see how anyone else can win.

Sure, on his own, Cato is probably the single largest threat in the arena, but now he's tied to me while they have each other. Topaz and the boy from Seven will be dangerous, but it's not the same as Nerissa and Mace being together. They're the only Career partnership, and it consists of two people who no doubt very much want me dead. I probably have a target on my back, but at least people are more likely to wait Cato out until he's gotten weaker over the course of the Games.

Though, on second thought, I don't think that bodes well for me either. I wouldn't be surprised if Cato decided to cut his loses and off me himself. He's arrogant enough to believe he's got a better chance of winning this without a partner.

My head starts to ache with the mere thought of working with Cato and all the repercussions it might have. What will people at home think? Will they hate me for working with a Career⎯especially one so closely connected with Amelia's death? What will Mabel and Mr. Fairbain think? They both told me to try, that I had to come home, but I don't know if they'll think I'm crossing some type of line to do it. I don't want to die. I know that everyone in Twelve understands that. Survival is nothing new to them. But even though I really have no choice in the matter, as I glance at the blond boy next to me-⎯the product of the Capitol and everything we struggle against⎯-I can't help but feel like I'm betraying them somehow.

I can't work with him, but I have to.

 _Amelia would want me to._

I glance down at the leather bracelet still on my wrist, and I know it's the truth. If she thought there was such a problem with working with them, she would have never allied herself with Careers. She would tell me that he's just a kid, that he can't help what he's been taught. He'll help me get home. It's worth it. But I can't help but feel angry every time I look at him. It's impossible not to think about Amelia and her death. He might not look very much like his brother, but it's impossible to separate them in my mind. He's got all of the qualities his brother displayed-⎯that all of the Career tributes show in the Games: ruthlessness, a lack of humanity, and a thirst for blood and glory. It's ironic, I guess, that out of everyone I know, Amelia would be the one most likely to support me working with Cato, and yet she's the main reason I feel like I can't.

Haymitch is already waiting for me backstage when the announcements end, but I don't approach him when I catch sight of the person he's talking to.

Demetrius.

I bite down on my cheek, trying to prevent the scowl from making its way onto my face. The volume of the room increases as all of the tributes file in and join their teams, and so neither of the mentors notice my presence. Cato, however, doesn't seem content to remain unnoticed. Instead, he saunters⎯-correction, _stomps_ ⎯-through the room towards his brother, and everyone makes a path for him.

He stops about halfway there and turns to glare at me. He practically barks, "Are you coming?"

 _So that's how this alliance is going to go._ I roll my eyes, but move to follow him anyway.

The two mentors turn to us when they notice our approach. The look on their faces is difficult to read. I make eye contact with Demetrius, my eyes narrowing slightly as I fight the impulse to look away. I refuse to be afraid of him.

He breaks the gaze a few seconds later, turning to his brother and giving him a small nod. They seem to be having a silent conversation, much like that night on the roof. I can't decipher what any of it means, though, because Haymitch starts speaking.

"You did good out there, kid."

I huff out a breath, glancing at the blond boy beside me before looking back at my mentor. "Thanks," I say. "Let's hope it was enough to get sponsors."

"We'll have sponsors," Cato says, invading our conversation.

I turn to glare at him, but Haymitch grabs my arm and starts leading me to the elevator before I get the chance. "Come on," he says gruffly. "Everyone's already waiting upstairs."

I'm reminded of the Tribute Parade as Haymitch pulls me towards elevator. The only difference is that instead of running away from Cato, he's now trailing behind me. And Finnick Odair is nowhere in sight, which is probably for the better.

The air around us is tense as the car begins to move, none of us saying a single word. The elevator feels too small with the two hulking Careers. Thankfully, they're on the second floor. I don't know if I can deal with them much longer. I'm exhausted, and I just want to go to sleep.

The doors open with a _ding,_ and Cato and Demetrius step out without so much as a parting glance and stalk away. I see Haymitch roll his eyes, and I find myself copying the motion as the doors slide shut once again. It figures they'd act this way. They think that they're better than us because they're from District Two.

The thought of spending time with either of them makes my blood boil as well, but we don't have much of a choice anymore: Whether we like each other or not, we're stuck together. They could at least _try_ to be civil. They're so superior, acting like I'm the one who's done something wrong. I don't know if it's because I'm from an outlying district or because of Amelia, but I know that it's going to get old real quick. Especially considering that between Cato and me, I'm the one who has the right to be angry. He's the brother of my sister's murderer. He's the remorseless killer. And now he's my partner. I swallow thickly when images of Amelia's death pop into my head alongside images of my nightmares⎯-nightmares that resulted in my death instead of hers. My nightmares actually have a chance of becoming reality now. I shiver involuntarily.

I'm so distracted by my thoughts that I move on autopilot, only snapping out of my trance when I hear the high pitch Capitol accent ring through the air.

"You did wonderful, darling. Simply wonderful," Effie says as she rushes over to hug me. "You two are the talk of the Capitol. You are _stars_. Everyone loves you." Her smile is practically blinding. At least someone's happy about this.

I try to give her a smile in response, but my face protests and forms a grimace instead. Despite this, I'm happy with Effie's approval. If she bought it, maybe everyone else did too.

Effie looks over my shoulder and turns to Haymitch, a quizzical expression covering her overly made-up face. "Where are Demetrius and Cato? There is much to discuss."

Haymitch grunts once before making his way to the dining arena and grabbing a bottle that I'm positive is filled with alcohol. For once I can condone his drinking. It's nice to know we're on the same page in all of this.

Taking a sip from his glass, he says, "We'll meet with them tomorrow. They had some things they needed to discuss." He throws a look my way with that comment, and it doesn't take much to understand his meaning.

Effie harrumphs at the news. "Well, I don't see what they could possibly be talking about besides strategy, which they need us for, but I suppose tomorrow will do just fine," she says as she turns away from us.

I shake my head. Effie doesn't get it. She doesn't understand that they're talking about me. I'm sure both of them realize how much the Capitol loves this type of thing, and now they need to figure out how to best approach the situation. Or maybe they're trying to figure out the best way to kill me without losing sponsors. A shiver runs down my spine. It really could be either choice.

"Are they in this, Haymitch?"

My mentor holds my gaze when I ask the question, but he doesn't speak. I'm frustrated by his lack of response. I don't have time for this.

"Are they going to make this work, or am I on my own? I need to know now so that I can start preparing."

"They're in," he says. "For now."

"For now? What does that mean?"

Haymitch takes another swig from his glass before replying. "It means exactly what you think it means, kid. They have one goal, and one goal only: win. He'll work with you as long as you don't get in the way."

"Or as long as I'm useful," I say.

It's not a question, because I know it's the truth. Cato will get rid of me-⎯maybe even kill me⎯-the second he thinks that this partnership isn't beneficial. Fear twists in my gut, but I shut it down. I _will not_ let myself be afraid of him. I didn't make it this far just for him to kill me.

Haymitch gives a quick nod to my words, his eyes drifting over to the TV at the far end of the room. Effie must have turned it on so that we could watch the recap. I can hear Caesar's loud voice in the background.

"We'll have to play this carefully," Haymitch says without looking at me. "The Capitol would love for him to win, and they already love the two of you together. If you two can manage to not kill each other in the arena, it could be a serious game changer."

A frown tugs at my lips at his comment. Game changer? Does he mean that I didn't have a chance before? That the Capitol didn't want me to win? Haymitch doesn't turn to look at me, though, acting like he hasn't even spoken. I follow his gaze, apprehension overcoming me with the image on screen. Cato and I, side by side, acting like there's no hatred between us. We actually look comfortable in each other's presence, and for some reason, it makes me hate him more.

It suddenly becomes clear to me that this is happening, that I really have to work with the brother of my sister's killer. With the realization comes a crushing weight. My limbs feeling impossibly heavy, my chest feels too tight, and my head begins to spin. I feel something rise in my throat, and for a moment I fear that I'm going to be sick, but the only thing that passes my lips is a laugh. It's a hysterical, manic sound, and it keeps coming. I laugh so much that I have to clutch my sides because they begin to hurt. But I keep laughing. I can't let myself stop. It's either laugh or cry, and right now I don't really feel like crying.

When I finally manage to calm myself down, I notice that both Haymitch and Effie are staring at me. The concern on Effie's face almost starts me laughing again, but Haymitch's expression stops me. He looks understanding, concern and sadness layered beneath it.

"Briar, dear, " Effie says somewhat cautiously. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing… Everything," I say with a sweeping gesture, another snort passing my lips. "This is insane. This can't be real. There's no way in hell that this was random. Seriously, what are the odds?" I ask with another hysterical laugh. "Cato? Really?"

"You know how this works, kid. It's all about the show," Haymitch says. That's not what I hear, though. What I hear is, "of course it's not random. Nothing in the Capitol is."

"This is going to be a nightmare, isn't it?"

Haymitch shakes his head. "That's going to depend on you and him."

 _Ha! That's a yes then._ I send my mentor a look that conveys exactly what I'm thinking.

"I guess it will be harder than last year,having to pretend and all. Not exactly star-crossed lovers, are we? Speaking of them," I say with a look around the room, "where are they?"

"Right here," comes a voice from behind me.

I turn to see Peeta, Katniss, and Cinna exit the elevator. The two lovers look worn out: Peeta's smile doesn't quite reach his eyes and Katniss is not even attempting one. Cinna's looks more real, but even he looks a more tense than what I'm used to. I don't know the reason, but it makes my stomach churn. I hope it doesn't have to do with me, but then I remember that they're as much a spectacle in the Capitol as us tributes. But still, it makes me uneasy seeing them like this.

"Everything alright?" I ask, a small frown tugging at my mouth.

Peeta sends me another smile that I'm sure is meant to be reassuring, but ends up looking strained. "Everything's fine," he says, Katniss and Cinna nodding their agreement. Suddenly his face morphs into a look of concern. "How are you holding up? That recap was… It was something."

"You could say that," I say, a sardonic smile making its way onto my face. "I'm fine, though, or I will be."

I applaud myself for how convincing I sound. All the practice in the first round seems to have paid off. Though I have a feeling that working with Cato is going to require my best acting skills yet.

"You and Cato, huh? Those are some crazy odds," Katniss deadpans.

"That's how it's looking," I reply just as flatly. "It shouldn't have been a surprise, though. I think this," I gesture towards the apartment and the city below, "proves that the odds haven't exactly been in my favor lately."

"I know you aren't happy with this, but it could work in your favor," Cinna says from beside me.

Everyone keeps saying that. They forget one important thing though.

"If we don't kill each other first, maybe," I say.

"And why would that happen? You two are partners now," Effie chimes in. I had forgotten she was in the room. Who knew she could be quiet for so long.

We all turn to stare at her. She seems to get the picture after a moment because she nods her head, looking slightly abashed before turning back to the recap.

Everyone chooses to remain silent on my comment. It's probably because they recognize the truth in it. They opt to reassure me that I did well, that the two of us looked good as a team, that you couldn't even tell there was tension. I leave on that note, telling them that I'm not hungry and that I'm going to shower. No one follows.

Sleep doesn't either.

I glare at the clock beside me, willing it to move faster. It just blinks back at me in response, each second ticking by at an impossibly slow pace. I know that sleep is going to elude me, so I throw my feet over the edge of the bed and stand up before pacing around the room. The nervous energy leaks from every pore in my body, filling the air and suffocating me. My view of the city below heightens every feeling of anger, fear, and apprehension that's keeping me awake. I suddenly can't bear to be here any longer. My feet carry me out of the stifling room as quickly as they possibly can, leading me towards the main area.

The room is dark and silent when I enter. It's not unexpected though. Everyone should be asleep by now⎯- _I should be asleep by now._ The open space provides little comfort thanks to the glass window. The city's lights flash into the room, dancing off the walls, creating an illusion of movement that makes me flinch with every flickering beam. Every glimmer has me primed for an attack.

The feeling of oppression returns full force when I move towards the window. I can't help the anger that surges inside me as I look down below. I'm an animal to these people, caged up and put on display for their entertainment. But along with my hatred, I feel a small sense of relief, even a little power as I watch the flickering lights and the movement below. I can see them, but they can't see me. For a moment, they are ignorant of my presence. For a moment, I'm the one doing the watching. I am invisible to them.

It's only a momentary solace though. There is no escaping their watchful eyes. My very presence here reminds me that no matter how much I try to fool myself into thinking otherwise, it's me who's powerless against the will of the Capitol⎯-it's still me who's been sacrificed for the slaughter.

"Briar? What are you still doing awake?" a voice sounds from behind me.

I startle at the words, whipping around to face the source.

"Jesus, Peeta. Don't sneak up on me like that," I bite out as I try to slow my rapidly beating heart.

Peeta is shadowed in darkness, his face barely visible as the light bounces off his blond hair. I can make out the apologetic look on his face as he comes to join me near the window.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," I say with a wave of my hand, my gaze turning back to the city below. "I was just distracted."

"It's strange, right?" he asks, nodding his head towards the glass. "It's so different from back home."

I nod and say, "It's like a different world out there."

Silence falls over us, both of our eyes transfixed on my prison. _Our_ prison. He may have won, but he's still just as trapped as I am.

"I don't know how I'm going to do it," I say after a moment, the words bubbling up unexpectedly. My comment is quiet, and for a second, I don't think Peeta's heard me, but then he answers.

His brows furrow slightly, and he asks, "Do what?"

My gaze remains focused on the city as I speak. "Go back into the arena," I say. "I don't know how I'm going to be able to do it all again. Twenty-two more people have to die, Peeta…I barely survived the first time."

"You aren't alone now, though. I know that you hate Cato, but he could help you."

I let out a bitter laugh at his words. Sweet, naïve Peeta, always seeing the best in people.

"We aren't exactly you and Katniss. I can't trust him, Peeta. I'm sure you saw how well that worked out for me in the last arena," I say bitterly. "I should have just listened to Haymitch. I don't know what I was thinking making an alliance."

Peeta doesn't say anything in response. Instead, his eyes flicker over my face, making me shift uncomfortably.

"I know you don't want to talk about it, but it helps. I promise," he says.

I open my mouth to tell him that I'm fine, but no sound comes out. My brain won't let me lie to Peeta. Not when he's being so sincere.

Images of Barden and Zeppina and Karn flash behind my eyes, and I bite down on my cheek in an effort to feel something other than the emotions they stir within me.

"I don't want to talk about it," I eventually say, "because if I talk about it, that means I'll have to think about it. And if I do that… that means I'm going to feel something other than anger, and I… I don't know if I can deal with that right now. I need to be ready for the next arena."

Peeta nods his understanding, and says, "I get that, but feeling things other than anger isn't necessarily a bad thing in the Games. It kept me alive."

"Yeah, well, I don't have anyone who's in love with me, and I don't think Cato's exactly a stellar candidate, so not sure that's going to work for me."

"You know that's not what I meant," Peeta says. "I just meant that feeling nothing but anger could be just as dangerous as letting yourself feel other emotions. Anger makes people do irrational things."

"There are a lot of things in the Games that make people do irrational things, Peeta," I say quietly, the memories of Karn lunging for me making me feel cold from the inside out.

"I just don't want what happened in the last arena to get in your way now. I can't imagine what you must be feeling having to work with Cato, but he could help you, Briar. He could be a good partner."

I don't say anything in response. Peeta sighs.

"What happened with Karn wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was," I say softly. "I was stupid. I knew… I knew there was something off about him, but I ignored it because he is— _was_ —from Twelve. I killed him, Peeta, and now I'm going to have to go back into the arena and kill more people. If I even want to have a chance of winning, I'm going to have to work with the brother of the tribute that killed my sister."

"You have to separate th—"

"I know that," I say, harsher than intended. I take a steadying breath before continuing. "I know that, believe me, I do. I get that they aren't the same person. I want to make this work, because I want to win. I want to go home. But I don't know how Cato feels, and if he turns against me… I don't have a chance."

"You can't think like that," Peeta says, his voice soft but commanding. "If Cato or his mentors are smart, they'll know that you're an asset. You _can_ make this work, Briar."

"Do you think that I can do it? I want the truth, Peeta. Do you think I can win?"

Peeta stares at me for a moment, and I feel my stomach begin to sink before he speaks. "There are no definites in the Games," he says, "But yes, I think you can win."

I'm once again immensely grateful to have Peeta Mellark as a friend. My worries about the arena are nowhere near gone, but his faith in me makes it more bearable. He isn't one to give out false hope, and so his reassurances are like a balm to my wounds. Things aren't okay, but they're better.

The brief comfort allows me to focus on Peeta's presence; my mind instantly questioning what has him up and wandering around in the middle of the night. A small frown tugs at my lips and I turn my gaze onto the boy beside me.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

His brows furrow at my question. "Why wouldn't I be?" he answers a little too quickly.

 _That's avoidance if I've ever seen it._

"It's just, you're awake too," I say. "Something keeping you up?"

Peeta lets out a sigh, the weird expression I noticed earlier covering his usually relaxed features.

"I hear talking about it helps," I say.

He chuckles quietly and shrugs. "It's nothing. Just stress. There's a lot to do around here."

"Ah, I see. Wedding pressure. I'm sure everyone here is eager to catch a glimpse of their favorite couple."

"Yeah," he replies, his voice sounding sadder than I've ever heard. "You should try to get some sleep," he tells me after a moment, clearly eager to end the conversation.

I scan over his face once more before slowly nodding. "You too, Peeta."

"I will. See you in the tomorrow."

The next morning, as I had assumed, my entire team, with the exception of Cinna has gathered at the breakfast table. No one says anything to me as I take my seat, all of them too engrossed in whatever conversations they're having at the moment. It's fine by me, because as soon as I sit, the smell of food hits me and my stomach gurgles to life. I remember that I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday. I dig in eagerly, all too aware of the fact that I'll spend the next few weeks hungrily scavenging for food-⎯if I manage to live that long, that is.

"Alright, so we've got a few things to go over before you head down," Haymitch says, breaking me out of my morbid thoughts.

"Like what?" I ask. I already know the answer.

My mentor sends me a wry look before speaking. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you to be careful around the kid from Two. _But_ ," he pauses and my body tenses in response to his words, "you have to at least try to seem like you get along."

I swallow and lean back in my chair, willing the tension to exit my body. The familiar buzz of energy settles under my skin. The rest of the table is silent as they wait for my response. They're probably all expecting me to get angry, to protest and say that there's no way I'm going to work with Cato. But that isn't going to happen. Somewhere between the announcement and waking up this morning I came to realize that Cato really is my best option to win, no matter what I think of him or his family. My recklessness is reaching new levels, but I have no other choice.

"Okay," I tell him.

Haymitch's brows furrow for the briefest of seconds before he sends me a hard look. "I'm not playing around, kid. You can't alienate him."

"I know," I say calmly. "I'm not going to."

Everyone looks a little uneasy and a lot suspicious.

I release a sigh. "Seriously, guys. I get it. Cato's a Capitol favorite⎯ _the_ favorite. I've seen the odds. He's huge, and deadly, and he's my best chance at making it out of the arena. I want to win, and if working with him is the way to do that, then I'm going to do it."

There's a brief moment of silence before my mentor grumbles out, "Good."

"Is that all?" I ask. I regret the question as soon as it leaves my mouth.

"We have to work out an image for you two," Effie pipes up. "Your history provides a great foundation, and the sponsors already love you, but we need something to really make you stand out⎯-to really sell you to the people. We want all of Panem rooting for you."

"I thought that part was over," I say as I pick at the now cold food on my plate. "There aren't any more interviews are there?"

"No," Peeta chimes in. "But the acting doesn't end just because you're in the arena." He stares at his plate as he says the words, and it takes me less than a second to notice the uncomfortable look on Katniss' face before she, too, speaks.

"You have to appear united in the arena. Nobody will support you if it looks like you and your partner are going to turn on each other."

"Well, we don't have to worry about that. Right, Briar?" Effie asks. "Because we are going to be civil, aren't we?"

The Hunger Games and civility are too contradicting in my mind. I send her a tight smile. "I can't make any promises on Cato's part."

Effie smiles brightly and waves a hand in my direction. "Oh, don't you worry about that. Everything is being taken care of. His team is prepping him to win, just as we are with you."

Unfortunately, that's what I'm worried about.

"And another thing, try to watch what he does in training," Haymitch says between bites of food, clearly ready to steer the conversation in a different direction. "Learn whatever you can from him. If he turns on you, you might know what to expect. And if he's doesn't, well, it can only help in the arena."

Peeta nods and adds, "And remember, this is the Quarter Quell. They're trying to top everything they've done in the past, so expect some curveballs. Anything extra you can pick up in training is beneficial."

Right, ask the killing machine for tips… The guilt from the previous night comes over me for a brief moment. I'm really going to be working with him. Everyone at home might hate me. But I don't feel ashamed⎯-guilty, yes, but not ashamed. I won't let myself feel bad about wanting to survive. I'll deal with everything else if I actually manage to do it. I resolve to learn as much as I can from him in the short time we have to prepare for the second arena. There has to be some benefit to working with Cato, and I'm determined to find it.

Soon enough, it's time to head down. My stomach constricts painfully as I rise from my seat. I quickly push down the mounting panic. I steel myself for what's to come, or at least I try to. Uneasiness continues to churn in my stomach as I wait for the elevator. Suddenly, Haymitch is beside me, distracting me from my thoughts.

My brows pull together when he stops in front of the doors, and I turn to give him a confused look. He's never done this before.

"I have a meeting," he says, as if he could read my thoughts.

"Oh," is all I manage to say in response.

Thankfully the elevator door slides open, effectively ending our conversation. We both step in, and an odd, but not uncomfortable, silence comes over us. The seconds pass by quickly, and then the door is opening again. We're on the second floor, but no one steps into the elevator. I don't have any time to be confused, though, because Haymitch is suddenly stepping out onto the floor. He turns to me before walking off.

"One more thing, kid," he says quietly. "Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer." The doors close, and my stomach drops along with the elevator.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **DUNDUNDUN and Cato is her partner... which was most likely 100% predictable, but that's okay. I wonder how it's going to go now that they have to interact on a regular basis...**

 **LetriceDeChoc: I did toy around a bit with the idea of giving her a different partner, but that just convoluted the rest of the plot, so here we are.**

 **FriendlyNeighboorhoodHufflepuff: Sadly, it is indeed Cato lol**

 **Ravenclaw Slytherin: YES SHE IS**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Were you right? I bet you were (: Glad you're finding it interesting!**

 **WhiteEevee: I can't help it. I love bad puns. Are we really surprised that a Capital man is rude? It's amazing how blind people can be in times of desperation. Sorry about the cliffhanger... or am I?**

 **Thanks for reading! Until next Friday!**


	17. Chapter 16: Eye of the Storm

**Chapter 16: Eye of the Storm**

I remember everyone's surprise last year when Peeta walked towards the Career camp and asked for an alliance. Most people were dumbstruck or angry, wondering how he could betray Katniss after everything he said. A few minutes in though, it didn't really take a genius to figure out what his plan was-⎯or maybe it was just because I used to see the way he would pine after her when we left school or when she came into town. Either way, it was clear that he was there to protect her. I remember thinking he was crazy, risking his life like that when it could have gotten them both killed. How could he be so reckless?

But now I have a whole new understanding of what was going on in his head and a whole new appreciation for his courage. Now I'd recognize the fear on his face, the way he paled, his cautious steps. He was terrified of them, as he should have been. Yet, he willingly worked with them because it was Katniss' best chance at survival.

I recognize it all now because that's exactly how I feel when the doors slide open, and I spot Cato at the far end of the room. He's leaning against the wall, looking thoroughly menacing. My heart thuds uncomfortably, and my limbs suddenly feel too heavy to move. I'm not much different than Peeta was a year ago, willingly offering myself up to work with a Career. The only difference is that the thing I'm fighting for is my own life, not someone else's. It's not as noble, but it's a pretty good incentive. But it doesn't make the trek towards Cato any easier, especially not when half the room turns to stare at me. It's not so different from how it will be in the arena, I think, because all of Panem will have their eyes on me then-⎯ _on us._

Obviously sleeping on what happened last night didn't have the same effect on Cato as it did on me. He's practically staring me down from across the room, like all of his problems would be solved if only I suddenly dropped dead. Anger flares up inside me, my movements becoming quicker. I don't know if he hates me or if he's just that condescending, but either way, he has no right. If I can put my hatred for his brother aside, he can get over whatever problems he has with me.

I can still feel people watching as I stride across the room. I wonder if their mentors told them not worry about us because we're going to have enough problems on our own. Maybe they're expecting me to attack now, or him to attack me. He does seem to have anger problems, so the odds of them having to pull him away from me are probably pretty high. I scan the room to see if any officials are nearby and sigh in relief when I spot a few.

Despite my own uncertainty, I don't plan on showing anyone else that we have issues. I raise my chin up and pull a small smirk onto my lips, walking the last few feet to Cato as confidently as I can manage. He raises an eyebrow when I stop in front of him, but I keep the smirk firmly in place.

"What's with the smirk?" he asks dryly.

I roll my eyes because, really, Cato is the last person who should be questioning the expression. Besides glaring, it's the only the look I think he knows.

"People were staring," I say. "Figured I give them something to look at. Better to let them think that both of us are happy about this."

He looks unimpressed by my explanation, not that I care all that much. As long as his opinion doesn't make him kill me, I couldn't care less what he thinks.

We fall into silence, staring at each other. The shock of his name being called at the announcement made it difficult to realize, but standing next to him now, I'm very aware of just how large he is. And how small I am _._ He could crush me. The thought makes the silence worse. With it comes an oppressive sort of tension as I'm once again hit with the realization that this is going to be my life for the next few weeks. _If I last that long._ That night on the roof feels like a lifetime ago, and yet, I feel like I'm still there as I try not to flinch under his gaze. I know it's something I'm going to struggle with in the arena. I'm never going to trust him. It's just not possible. But still, I told Haymitch that I would try to work with Cato, and I intend to do just that, because as much as I don't like him, I'm not stupid enough to ignore how useful he could be in the arena.

 _I'm really starting to hate that word._

I clear my throat awkwardly and say, "Right, so… what did you have in mind? For today, I mean… What do you want to work on?" I gesture around the room and try not to wince at how pathetic I sound.

He chuckles condescendingly, and my eyes immediately narrow, but he seems unbothered. "You're asking me that, Twelve? I'm not the one who needs training here."

"I'm just trying to work out a game plan," I bite out.

"Well, we don't have nearly enough time to cover all of things you need to fix before we go into the arena," he replies.

My jaw clenches tightly at his words. "Great. So I guess we'll just stand here all day since there's nothing we can do to save me. It's not like I've managed to survive an arena or anything," I say sarcastically. I don't really mean to say any of it out loud, much like that night on the roof, but Cato seems to have a way getting under my skin, and I can't help but fight back.

He pushes off the wall and takes a step towards me. Invading personal space must be a Career thing. Maybe they teach it at the academy.

"Most of that was luck. If you were against anyone half decent and didn't have the weather to save you, you'd be dead right now."

My stomach clenches tightly and something jolts up my spine. I want to argue, but part of me knows that he's right, so I keep my mouth shut as he continues talking.

"Your knife skills are poor, and you get tossed around in hand-to-hand combat too easily. You're fast, I'll give you that, but that's not enough to keep you alive until the end. It's not enough for you to win. You can't outrun everything."

Heat licks at my insides as the words spill from his mouth, even though the pit in my stomach is evidence of my own doubt. Not that I'd ever admit its existence to him.

" _Half decent?_ Yeah, I only faced off with a muttation and some of your _friends_. Stop making it sound like I'm so hopeless," I grit out. "I managed to do what I needed to in order to survive the first arena, and I'll do it again. I wouldn't have made it this far if that weren't the case. Like it or not, I plan on making it out of the Games. Alive."

There's a short pause when I finish. "You done?" Cato asks, looking bored.

He's so frustrating! I've never felt such a strong desire to hit someone before—well, discounting in the arena, of course. "Like it or not, Cato, we're on the same team here. So you need to get over whatever prejudice you have against me."

He grunts and begins to walk away, leaving me fuming where I stand. I wonder if I could hit him wife a knife from this distance. The rack is only a couple feet away. Even if I just hit him in the calf or something. That would make him think twice about how he's going to treat me in the arena. I don't have time to contemplate my throwing skills any further because he's suddenly turning around, sending me an annoyed expression.

"Are you just going to stand there all day?"

I roll my eyes and stalk towards him. He doesn't wait for me, and I'm left following him as he strolls across the room to some unknown destination. I have to control my desire to grab one of those fancy knives on the way. He wouldn't even see it coming.

Or he'd kill me.

He'd probably kill me.

The recurring thought makes my legs feel wooden, but I force myself to walk. I internally wince when I catch sight of the sponsors talking with the Gamemakers. We have to give a good impression, and I don't think we're off to a very good start. The feeling only gets worse when I reach where Cato is standing. I take the station in, a frown tugging at my lips. It's the simulator.

"What are we doing?" I ask, hoping my voice doesn't give away any of my anxiety.

"Isn't it obvious, Twelve? We're training," Cato says, throwing just enough condescension in there to make my hands ball into fists.

I had avoided the simulator last training session because I knew it would reveal just how pathetic I am with weapons. So did Haymitch, which is why he also told me to stay away from it. My skills haven't improved since then. I'm going to make a fool of myself.

Cato smirks, clearly aware of how uncomfortable I've suddenly become. I don't know what he's playing at. For a fraction of a second I wonder if he's actually considered working together and that maybe he wants to help me. It could only benefit him in the arena. But I crush the idea down because I doubt he's doing anything of the sort. He's probably hoping I'll look bad in front of the sponsors so that they don't blame him when he kills me himself. My body stiffens at the idea.

"You want me to work with you? Prove to me you're not useless," he says.

 _Useless_. It's a word I've heard too many times, something I've _felt_ too many times since being reaped. It just makes me think of Haymitch and Karn, and the Games, and everything that's happened, and I can feel both dread and anger burn in my veins. I'm tired of feeling useless. I want to feel strong. I can begrudgingly admit that accepting Cato's help is the best way to achieve that, but I don't really know how to go about it, especially not with the simulator. Besides, I don't know if he's actually offering any help.

It doesn't matter though, because apparently I've taken too long to answer. Cato chuckles, and says, "That's what I thought," before grabbing a sword off the rack and walking into the station.

I'm left standing there alone as the machine hums to life. It takes Cato less than a second to get ready, and then he's moving. His movements are quick and sure—and terrifyingly accurate. I had seen what he's capable of during the first training session, saw the ease with which he sliced through the dummies or impaled them with one weapon or another. But it's different being this close. Even the footage from the first arena didn't show him like this. Any kill he made there was quick and lacked finesse thanks to the conditions. This is what he really looks like in action, capable of killing anything or anyone who gets in his way. The ease, the smirk he wears while doing it, just as add to the coiling pit in my stomach.

It's unnerving to watch him. He's calm and focused as he slices away at the dummies, but I note the fire in his eyes, the aggression he has become so accustomed to. He is well practiced in the art of killing. I'm not so fortunate⎯-or unfortunate depending on how you look at it. Watching him reminds me of the one thing I can't forget—Cato is the biggest threat in the arena, teammate or not.

I let out a heavy breath as the last of the figures explodes into pieces thanks to Cato's strike. I can hear whispers and excited little yelps as the fake pieces fall to the ground, and a quick scan of the room tells me that Cato's got everyone's attention. The Gamemakers look over the moon about his performance. Cato straightens up and makes his way back towards me just as the humming of the machine begins to die down. There's no smirk on his face now, but the fire in his eyes remains. For a quick second I'm left thinking that as twisted as he is, maybe this is more than a game to Cato. There's no other reason to take it so seriously. But then he grunts out that it's my turn, and the thought vanishes. He just likes to see people squirm.

"I don't know if that's a good idea," I say with a glance towards the machine. I don't want to look weak by backing down, but honestly, this can only end in disaster.

Cato chuckles but there's no humor in the sound. It's hollow, and I hate it. "And why would that be? I thought you wanted to train." _He's mocking me._ I glower, but it's equally aimed at him and myself because I _do_ want to train. I just can't here.

"You just told me not ten minutes ago that you think my knife skills are lacking, and I really doubt that you think I've got some hidden talent that I can use in there."

He raises an eyebrow. "Your point?"

"My point," I bite out, "is that if I'm really as bad as you believe me to be, then this will only make me look worse in front of sponsors, and that certainly doesn't help you. Shouldn't we be trying to make a good impression?"

Cato rolls his eyes like the answer should be obvious. "They've already made up their minds after the first arena. What they see here isn't going to change that. I, on the other hand, need to know what I'm working with because I'm not going to drag along dead weight, Twelve."

My blood simmers at the comment. "I am _not_ dead weight, _Two_ ," I practically spit back. "Maybe weapons aren't my strong suit, but I didn't get an eight for no reason. Not every skill is measured in how quickly or how violently it can kill someone."

"That's great, Twelve, really," he says dryly, "but your ability to spot poisonous bugs isn't going to save anyone if someone's coming at you with an ax or spear. I won't be responsible for you if you can't take care of yourself."

"I'm not asking you to be. And yeah, maybe you're right about that, but that doesn't mean that survival skills won't save your life eventually." He opens his mouth to respond, but I cut him off. "And, you're right, my knife skills aren't great, and I do get tossed around because I'm small, but in case you didn't notice, I didn't lose any of those fights. They're dead, and I'm alive. I may not be great at throwing a knife or a spear, but I know where to aim when it comes down to it. For the last time, I want to win. So you can believe whatever you want, but weapons skills or not, I'm going to win."

I'm practically panting when I finish speaking, and my cheeks burn with all of the blood that's rushed to my face. I feel like I've run a marathon. I send Cato a glare for good measure, ignoring the part of my brain that's telling me to stop because I'm just digging a deeper hole for myself. Cato appears to have no response. Instead he stands there with his head tilted to the side, staring at me with an expression I can't quite name. I'm starting to realize that it's a pattern with him—my inability to understand what he's thinking. I feel like he's sizing me up, like he can read me better than I can read him, and it makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Maybe he doesn't have any shred of humanity, but that doesn't mean he doesn't understand it. I won't let him use whatever data he's storing away against me.

He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and jerks his head towards the knife rack. "Fine, then. Let's see what you can do. Do you think you can handle some stationary targets?" he asks with false sincerity.

I roll my eyes, and this time I walk away from him. I can hear his heavy footsteps behind me, and I'm pretty sure I hear a low chuckle. He's enjoying getting under my skin. I hate him.

I grab a knife off the rack, and march towards the throwing mark. I take my stance, pulling my arm back and throwing. The knife barely leaves my hand before I hear Cato's voice beside me.

"You're doing it wrong."

The knife hits the edge of the target.

I suppress a growl as I march back towards the rack to grab another knife. My blood feels hot from embarrassment and anger. I turn towards the mark once again, and I feel the anger spike.

"Move," I say when I spot Cato standing in the spot I previously occupied.

"No." There is no raise of an eyebrow, no condescension. He is completely serious, his tone brokering no argument. I should care because I'm afraid of him. Really and truly afraid.

But I don't.

"Get out of my way so I can throw," I say, my voice surprisingly calm.

Cato rolls his eyes. "Not if you're going to do it like that again. You'll just keep missing, it'll keep being pathetic, and what little time we get to train for the arena will be wasted."

Some of the anger dissipates with that. He's right. I should listen to him. He's probably been training since he learned to walk, maybe even earlier. I sort through my to him now can't hurt, I tell myself. I'll either see improvement or I won't. He can't trick me with this. And it's not like he doesn't already know that a knife is the only weapon I'm most likely capable of using. I pretty much gave that away in the last arena. I could try the ax, but I don't think that will impress him much either. If this doesn't work, we stop. Yes, I should listen to him. Besides, I'm tired of this conversation going in circles.

I swallow whatever lingering anger I have. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. "Fine. What am I doing wrong?"

There's a flicker of something like surprise on Cato's face before he says, "Your whole stance is wrong."

"I'm doing what the instructor told me to do." I turn to look at one and realize that there are no more instructors, only officials and the head trainer, Atala, to monitor us. This really is just about our partnerships.

"Well then you aren't doing it very well," he replies. He steps to the side. "Take your stance."

I only hesitate for a moment before walking up to the mark. I separate my feet and pull the knife back like the instructor said.

"Wrong."

I take a deep breath and turn to the boy beside me. "What exactly is wrong with it?" I ask.

"Your arm," he says. "And your feet," he adds a moment later. He actually looks a little annoyed, like I'm more incapable than he thought.

 _Great_.

"How do I fix it?" My patience is wearing thinner by the minute.

His eyes trail down, landing on the knife in my right hand. "Your throwing is too slow for a knife that light."

That's it, that's all he says.

I stare at him in silence but he doesn't continue. Does he think I know what that means? The answer is obviously yes, because I'm just met with more silence.

"And that means what exactly?" I ask, frustration no doubt evident in my voice.

Cato rolls his eyes again. "Didn't you say you worked with a butcher? Do you know anything about knives?" he asks incredulously.

I'm confused for a second, wondering how he could know that before I remember that that conversation was shown on the recap last night. I don't know if should be surprised that he was paying attention to anything that I said. But then again, I'm sure the Careers are taught to pay close attention to everyone so that they can use their weaknesses against them in the most efficient manner. It's really the only plausible explanation.

"Yes, I know about knives," I say in reply. "But butchering meat doesn't generally involve throwing knives across the room so…"

"It means that if you throw that slowly, the knife will wobble or float, and that your shot has almost no chance of being effective," he says. He sounds just as frustrated as I feel. "And…" he trails off, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you going to remember what I'm saying? Because I'm not going to spend all day explaining this to you."

I shot him a glare before I remind myself to stay calm. It's exhausting, but I think that I manage to pull my face into a neutral expression. "I promise to try my best," I say with forced calm.

"Fine," he grunts. Cato nods his head in the direction of my legs. "Move your feet closer together. They're way too far apart, and if you try to use that stance in an actual fight, you'll lose. Quickly. Your feet should only be about two foot lengths apart."

I do as he says, and he doesn't make a move to correct me. I take it as a win.

"With a knife that light, your throw will depend on your arm action," he continues. I'm surprised at how helpful he actually seems to be, but I probably shouldn't be. This is what he knows, what he's been taught his whole life. It's like second nature to him.

"Grab the handle like you would any other knife, and don't raise your bicep higher than your chest. It'll throw off your entire shot," he tells me. I continue walking through what he says to see if he'll stop to correct me. I'm not disappointed.

"No," he says, frustration evident in his voice as my right arm drops back. "The knife needs to be even behind your head. Then you swing it forward, and shift your weight from your right foot to your left. Under no circumstances should your right shoulder move. Your fingers, however, should snap together once you release the knife. Make sure you follow through or chances are the knife won't stick," he finishes.

 _No pressure or anything._

"Any day now," comes his voice from beside me.

I shoot him a glare before focusing on the target. I take a deep breath and snap my arm forward. The knife lodges itself in the target. It isn't all the way on the edge, but it isn't exactly close to the center either. I'm not disappointed because it's better than most of my other shots, but one look at Cato tells me he's not impressed.

Cato grunts something that sounds vaguely like 'pathetic' under his breath before he starts to walk away. "I'm going to the sword station," he says over his shoulder. It's not an invitation to follow. Once again, I tempted to pick up a knife and throw it at him. Then we'd really see how much his direction paid off. But then Atala walks into my line of sight, and I'm forced to let the urge go.

* * *

The stale air of the elevator is suffocating. It doesn't help that Cato's large frame takes up most of the space. I think it's safe to say that I hate him even more than I did when I woke this morning, which is a feat I didn't think possible. Following his short knife lesson—and the only moment of civilized conversation between us—Cato went back to being his Career self. By that I mean that he spent the rest of the training session strutting around the room, slicing off fake limbs, refusing to so much as breathe in the direction of the survival stations, and glaring. I'm nearly positive that the sponsors now know we aren't team material. Haymitch will be disappointed.

I'm extremely grateful that Cato is on the second floor. The idea of being in his presence any longer is nearly unbearable. I didn't know that it was possible to feel angry, restless, and scared at the same time, but Cato has somehow managed to create all of those feelings in me. I'm sure he'd be proud of the achievement.

The elevator doors slide open when we hit the second floor. I raise my eyes from the ground. They meet harsh blue ones. The sigh of relief I've been holding in refuses to pass my lips at the sight of the victor. He doesn't spare me more than a second glance. It's still enough to make every muscle in my body constrict. I'm anchored to the floor—until Cato pushes past me and stomps into the room. Demetrius follows after his brother.

It takes me another moment to register that Haymitch is standing there. We meet eyes for a brief moment, and I know that this has not been an easy day for him. I'm not feeling too good either.

I stare at him silently as he steps into the elevator, and the doors close behind him.

"What was that about?" I ask. I can hear the nerves in my voice. It's pathetic.

He waves a hand in my direction. "Nothing to get too worked up about," he says. "They just needed some reassurance. They're a little high strung."

I send him an incredulous look.

"Relax, kid. I'll explain in a little."

I release a sigh but I don't ask again. Haymitch can't keep me in the dark forever. Especially not with tomorrow quickly approaching.

"How was training?" he says after a moment. "Anything I should know about?"

It's just like the beginning of the Games. I failed to follow his instructions again. Cato definitely hates me. And what's worse is I actually tried to make this work. I just couldn't.

"Exactly as you would imagine," I say dejectedly.

"That good?"

"Better," I say. I'm sure that Haymitch can recognize the irritation in my voice. Maybe that's why he hasn't yelled at me yet. The elevator dings as the door open to our floor.

"That's to be expected," he replies as we walk into the apartment. "They're an arrogant bunch."

"Arrogant is an understatement," I mumble.

"What about the other thing?" he asks. "Learn anything interesting?"

 _Aside from how capable Cato is of getting under my skin? Nope. Nothing._ Despite Haymitch's own propensity for sarcasm, something tells me that he wouldn't appreciate it right now. I decide to keep that to myself.

"We, uh, we didn't spend much time together." I cringe when the words leave my mouth. Saying them out loud makes it clear how much I've messed this up. "But he gave me some pointers on throwing," I say quickly. Maybe that will make up for it.

I doubt it.

"I'm not exactly a master at it, but there was some improvement," I add after a moment. I'm telling the truth too. I only hit the center circle once, but I didn't miss the target at all. Cato may still think I'm pathetic, but in comparison to the last time I tried, it really is better.

Haymitch nods at my words. "Good. Improvement is good." He starts to walk away before he turns around. He looks thoughtful for a moment before he asks, "How bad was it between you two?"

I don't really know how to answer that so I go with the one bright spot of the day. "Bad, but he hasn't threatened to kill me yet so there's that."

"Right," he says and starts walking. He stops and turns around again. "Oh, and we have dinner tonight with District Two. Be ready at 7."

He's off with that, leaving my standing in the middle of the room with my stomach in my throat. It stays there for hours.

"Where is everyone?" comes Effie's shrill voice. "It would be highly inappropriate to be late." She looks as nervous as I feel. Her heels are going to burn a hole in the floor if she keeps pacing like that.

"Don't get your panties in a twist," Haymitch says drolly. "They'll be here in a minute."

Despite how nervous I am. I can't help but laugh quietly to myself. They're worse than children sometimes. Effie does have a point, though. It's five minutes to 7:00, and Katniss and Peeta are nowhere to be found. In fact, I haven't seen them since this morning. I frown at the thought. I shouldn't be surprised though. They've been doing this the entire time we've been in the Capitol. I'm momentarily envious of their freedom, but then Effie mumbles something about weddings, and I take it back. But then again, they aren't going back into the arena tomorrow so maybe I don't.

"What will they say if we aren't on time? It gives a terrible impression. _Terrible_. We do not need them looking down on us," she angrily tells Haymitch.

I'm sure he's thinking the same thing I am; that they already look down on us. Thankfully we're saved from having to break the news to Effie because the elevator opens and the previous victors step out. They look tired again. Even with makeup I can see the heavy bags under their eyes.

"Oh thank goodness," Effie sighs. "There you two are. We've been waiting."

Peeta looks slightly abashed, but Katniss is unfazed by the escort's chastisement. "You said to be ready by 7. We're on time," she replies, indicating towards the clock. 6:58.

"Well, yes," Effie says, somewhat aggrieved. "But for important occasions, on time simply means early, Katniss."

"We'll remember that next time. Sorry, Effie," Peeta says. He manages to sound sincere.

Haymitch clears his throat loudly. "Well now that we have that," he throws a look towards Effie, "important lesson out of the way, we should head down. Don't want to give Enobaria a reason to use those teeth."

My eyes widen. "Enobaria? I thought Cato's brother was his mentor."

"He is," Haymitch says as he presses the button for the elevator. "But Cato had the best odds of winning out of the gate. They like to put their money on which tribute they think will win. They'll see to their other tributes later."

I swallow heavily as we step into the car. That seems harsh, but I'm not surprised. It's not what makes me nervous. _Cato_ had _the best odds._ Has that changed now that I've been partnered with him? I'm positive that it has. I don't need any confirmation. With Mace and Nerissa, and Topaz and Rowan partnered together, there's no way we're at the top. It's just another reason for them to hate me.

"Who else is going to be there?" I ask. I don't like surprises. Not this kind, at least.

"Well there will be all of us, of course. Minus Cinna," Effie supplies. "He's very busy at the moment." She sighs, seeming put out, but I don't know why. She snaps out of it a moment later and adds, "There will also be Cato and his mentor, Demetrius, as well as Brutus, Enobaria, and their escort, Zella." The last part is clipped. I'm confused until I remember some of Effie's earlier comments about District Two's escort. I guess she really doesn't like her.

"Try not to worry too much about it," Haymitch says throwing a quick glance at me. "They're just trying to assert their dominance."

I knew that this would happen. It's expected that they wouldn't trust me, I'm from District Twelve, after all. I'm still scared though, even with my lack of surprise. They're idea of control could mean anything. I'm positive that it includes giving Cato the okay to kill me whenever he feels like it. I'm not that scared of Brutus and Enobaria though. They aren't the ones who remind me of Amelia. They aren't the ones that can hurt me.

The elevator slows to a stop and the doors slide apart. I follow my mentor out slowly, the nerves pinching in my stomach. The apartment is cold—in both temperature and design. Everything is sharp lines and hard in comparison to District Twelve's floor. I think it's fitting. The room is not out of place in the Capitol, just like they aren't.

My head turns sideways when I feel someone step up beside me.

"Don't let him intimidate you," Katniss says.

I'm about to ask her who she's referring to, when I hear Haymitch speak from my other side.

"Just let me do the talking, kid."

I turn away from my mentor when we stop walking. It's hard to focus on anything other than the crowd of people in the room. Especially when they're all sneering at me.

"Nice of you to join us, Abernathy," Enobaria says.

Haymitch sends her a perfunctory nod. She smiles falsely, bearing her teeth like an animal. They're are sharp and pointed—a chilling remainder of how she won her Games. My appetite is quickly decreasing.

Enobaria's gaze drifts away from my mentor and falls on me. My insides twist in discomfort. She's terrifying, but I hold her gaze. At least then I don't have to look at anyone else in the room. A heavy silence falls over us. Thankfully, Effie hates the quiet.

"It's very kind of you to have us," Effie tells the District Two team. Even her smile seems a little forced.

"Yes, well, it's all in the spirit of unity," comes a sickly sweet voice that I don't recognize.

I turn my head away from Enobaria and towards the source. My eyes widen when I take in the figure. I don't know how I could have missed her when I came in. The only way to describe what she's wearing is hideous. And orange. I blink twice to make sure I'm seeing correctly. _Yep, that's definitely what she's wearing._ The dress is a horrifying puffy, gauzy material that is layered in alternating shades of orange. The material even covers her neck, and there's a red ribbon that ties around the base, forming a bow in the front. There are no sleeves, but the same gauzy material is wrapped around her wrists in giant, identical bracelets. She's wearing red tights and her shoes have some sort of animal hair on them. On top of her bright pink hair sits a headpiece that's made of fruit. And I thought Effie was bad.

She looks older than my escort. The powder on her face and the striking amount of alterations has done little in the way of making her appear young. Her face looks hard—like porcelain—and unfriendly. She's the perfect escort for District Two.

"Effie, dear, aren't you going to introduce us to your team?" she asks. I narrow my eyes slightly. The condescension is clear in her voice.

Effie gives a slightly pained smile. "Oh yes, of course. Katniss, Peeta, Briar, this is Brutus, Enobaria, and Demetrius, three of District Two's mentors. Lyme is attending to the female tributes at the moment," Effie says. She takes a short breath and turns to the orange monstrosity. "And this is District Two's escort, Zella."

There's another pause before my mentor speaks. "Well now that we know we're all here, why don't we get started?" Haymitch asks, the false cheer evident in his voice.

"That's probably a good idea," Demetrius says. It's not the first time I've heard him speak. No. After he won I was forced to watch interview after interview of him discussing the Games, the Capitol, what he would do now that he was a victor. It sent a chill through me every time. It has the same effect now.

I follow everyone to the table despite the leaden feeling in my body. Everyone moves around awkwardly for a moment, trying to figure out where to sit. I edge closer to Haymitch and Effie, but I stop when someone calls out my name.

"You're Briar, yes?" Zella asks. I nod. "Wonderful. You'll sit right there."

She points to a seat at the end of the table. My gaze meets Cato's cold eyes. I have the overwhelming urge to protest. I don't. That would just make things worse. Instead, I nod and make my way to the where she pointed. My mouth twitches slightly in a silent greeting to my partner. It's not even close to a smile, but it's the best it's going to get. Cato just glances at me and then turns back to the table. I think that went well.

Katniss sits to the left of me. Considering her general lack of speaking, and my desire to avoid Cato, I realize that I will be spending the night in silence. It's probably for the better anyway. I'd rather not give them another reason to want me dead. I glance to the other end of the table. Haymitch sits directly across from me. Amelia's murderer sits beside him. I tear my gaze away quickly.

Once we're all seated, the first course is brought out. It's eerily quiet in the room, nothing to be heard except for the clanking of spoons or forks. Nobody wants to start the conversation. It makes sense for us. District Twelve and District Two never work together because it's impossible to trust each other. The general distaste for their district places conversing with them low on the list of priorities.

It doesn't make as much sense for them though. They like to be in control. I would think that they'd want to make it clear what their views are. I conclude that their lack of conversation has to do with the fact that they think poorly of us. I'm sure it's very hard for them to associate with an outlying district. But they don't have much of a choice. Not with Effie in the room.

"It's so quiet," she says. Her lips press together in a smile that's approaching a grimace. "Everyone must be very hungry."

We all glance up at her when she speaks, but only Zella replies.

"Well, is that so much of a surprise? Coming from District Twelve, your party must not be used to such decadent meals. What with food being so scarce," Zella says.

I narrow my eyes, but Effie replies for me. "Yes, it is unfortunate. It's so difficult to find the proper resources so far away from the Capitol, but they make do with what they have. I'm thinking of starting a relief effort. I was thinking I would start with some of my old fruit décor, since they are quite on their way out." Effie is sitting a little taller than before. Zella's face is rapidly turning the same shade as the apple on her head. "You might think about contributing one of your headpieces. I'm sure they'd be happy to have it. They'll take practically anything there."

Haymitch snorts into his soup, and Effie looks very proud of herself. I wouldn't be surprised if Zella threw the adjacent orange at her. Katniss and Peeta are trying to hide their amused looks by shoving food into their mouths. My own lips twitch into a small smirk until I catch a glimpse of Cato. He's glowering at his food, spearing the beef like it's his next kill. It's a lot less funny when I look at him, so I turn my eyes on Two's escort. Zella just smiles serenely.

"I can see that you adapted very well to your District, Effie, darling. You've even begun to dress like them. It's always nice to give your tributes the comfort of home," Zella says sweetly.

Effie sends her a prim smile. "I'm surprised that you noticed, Zella, dear. It can be hard to recognize the newest trends when you're so far away from the center of it all. Luckily for me, I get to preview all of Cinna and Katniss' newest designs. They're so generous with their inner circle. You know how fashion is—so exclusive," Effie says, whispering the last part like it's a trade secret.

The tension at the table is palpable. Zella is trying her best to not look affronted, but she isn't doing a good job. For a second I feel like I'm in a whole different type of arena. How nice would it be if all we had to do was defend our fashion choices? Zella looks ready to fire something back at Effie, but she never gets the chance.

Demetrius clears his throat loudly. "We aren't here for this drivel. If you want to discuss fashion, you're welcome to leave," he says in a clipped voice.

Both Effie and Zella look embarrassed at the reprimand. My own blood feels hot at the tone he takes with my escort. Effie is harmless. He has no right to talk to her like that.

Instead of saying whatever it is she had in mind to my escort, Zella sends Effie a strained smile and asks someone to pass the green beans.

Everyone is quiet for a moment as the avoxes come to bring out more food. Once they've gone Demetrius speaks again. "Have you thought over what I said, Abernathy?"

"Yes, and the answer is still no," Haymitch replies gruffly.

I look between the two men, confusion no doubt coloring my features. I spare a quick glance at the rest of the table. No else seems confused. Not even Cato. Demetrius' face twists with annoyance, as do the faces of the other two mentors from my allied district.

"If we entertain this folly for a second in the arena, it will severely cripple Cato's chances. It's unacceptable," he says forcefully.

I can tell that Haymitch is fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "People survive in the arena without it all the time. If he's really as good as you all believe, then it shouldn't be a problem."

Cato stiffens beside me, sending a glare to my mentor. He's clearly angry, though I'm guessing it's different from the anger forming inside of me. Everyone knows what Haymitch and Demetrius are talking about except for me. I've been left out of the loop. It's obvious that they're arguing about me, about the effect I have on Cato's chances of winning. I hate being talked about like I'm not in the room.

"It would give them a clear advantage," Demetrius says. He leans back in his seat seeming thoughtful for a moment. "You know, Abernathy, your insistence against it makes me question your reliability. If this is going to be such a problem, why are we discussing anything at all?"

Haymitch sits up straighter in his chair, his eyes narrowing at the victor beside him. "I'll tell you wh—"

"What are you talking about?" asks an irritated voice. I belatedly release it's mine. _So much for staying quiet._

Everyone turns to look at me, and I hear someone laugh quietly. Enobaria.

"So she does speak," she says with mock surprise.

I ignore her and the glaring boy next to me, instead focusing on the two mentors across from me. "What are you talking about?" I ask again.

Everyone continues to look at me, and it's Brutus who speaks this time. "This could be solved much more simply," he says to the two mentors. He turns his head towards me. "What are your skills, girl?"

I'm taken by surprise for a moment. I knew the question was coming at some point, but I still don't know what to say. Cato takes it upon himself to answer for me in my silence.

"Nothing that will be of any use."

Why does everyone keep questioning me? I thought surviving the first arena would count for something, but apparently I was wrong.

I glower at the boy beside me. "That isn't true. We just have different opinions on what's useful in the arena," I bite back. It's not entirely true, but I'm not going to let him push me around.

"She won't stand a chance in the Cornucopia," Enobaria adds, clearly taking my defensive tone as an admittance of weakness.

So that's what this is about—the Bloodbath. They want us to go, and Haymitch is arguing against it. But Careers always participate in the slaughtering. Am I one by extension? I hope not. The District Two team clearly doesn't believe I am, and the fact that Haymitch is refusing to agree means that he doesn't think I am either. They all think I can't do this. I can feel the disagreement sitting on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it back. I won't argue just because I don't like being doubted, especially when I have doubts of my own. The Bloodbath is near suicidal. I don't want to be anywhere near there.

"Going to the Cornucopia isn't necessary," Katniss says, speaking up for the first time. "Peeta and I won last year without it."

"Briar's already proven she can hunt," Peeta adds, adopting an authoritative tone that I didn't know he had, "and she's good with other survival skills. Everyone from District Two looks ready to protest at that statement, but he doesn't give them a chance. "You may not value them as highly as the ability to use a weapon, but you can't argue with the fact that they come in handy. We have no idea what the arena will be like. You never know what might be needed. And she's not bad with a knife either. There's a reason she got an eight," he says after a pause.

Cato scoffs beside me, and I have to fight the urge to kick him under the table.

"I'm not that bad," I spit at the boy.

"You're terrible."

"I can hit a target."

"Barely."

"Well, 'barely' was pretty efficient in the first arena, wasn't it?" I say tersely.

I only register the harshness of my words once they leave my mouth. Enobaria looks almost giddy at the statement. It's enough to make feel guilty about saying it. I can't take the words back though, and as cruel as they are, I don't know if I want to. I need to find some way to show them that I can be helpful, that I'm not just pulling Cato down. And they seem to respond the best to cruelty.

Thankfully no one on my team looks angry or appalled by my comment. Haymitch even looks like he's smirking a little, although it seems to be directed at 2. He's probably glad that they aren't getting away with insulting us.

"As fascinating as this all is, it doesn't solve the problem of the Cornucopia," Demetrius says.

His comment is directed at the entire table, but I glare at him anyway. My cheeks burn. I hate him. I hate all of them.

"It's still unnecessary. There's no reason to risk it," Haymitch says.

Demetrius shakes his head. "It's only a risk if you're unprepared."

I think of the other boy from Two, the one that Barden killed. He didn't make it past the Cornucopia. Did they just chalk it up to him being unprepared? Did they not give it any more thought? Probably not. He's just another failure to them.

"We don't have to be in the same place all of the time," I say after a moment. "Cato can go to the Cornucopia and if he makes it out, then we'll go from there."

"I'll make it out," Cato replies crossly.

"And what do you suggest happens after that? How exactly do you expect to meet up?" says Demetrius before Cato can say anything else.

It's the first time he's spoken directly to me. A chill runs up my spine, and my eyes narrowly slightly.

"I'll make sure not to go too far," I say flatly. "I promise to make it easy for him."

Cato doesn't appreciate my mocking tone. I can see him tense beside me, his glare attempting to burn a hole in my head.

Haymitch shakes his head. "Splitting up is a bad idea. The arena might make it nearly impossible to find each other again."

Something tells me that District Two would prefer that. A part of me prefers it too, but there's a voice in my head telling me that Cato could be an asset, so I shut the other part down. I sit back against my chair as a silence falls over us.

"I told you this was useless," Cato says after a minute. "The only thing she can do is run."

I scowl at him until I feel someone's eyes on me. I fail in suppressing a shudder when I realize that it's Demetrius. His look is thoughtful, but it still causes dinner to rise up my throat.

"Why not make use of that speed?" he asks. "You scored well on the gauntlets, yes?"

It's definitely not what I was expecting him to say. He's actually pointing out that I'm good at something. Cato or someone else from his district must have told him.

I nod in response. "I finished second."

"What are you thinking, Demetrius?" comes Enobaria's voice.

"We send her in," he replies. "If she's as fast as she seems—if that show with the muttation wasn't a fluke—she could be one of the first ones there. In and out before anyone gets a chance to attack," he finishes. There is no emotion in his voice. It's calculated and cool. If I were an outsider, I never would have guessed the situation between us.

I stare blankly at the victor. I have no idea how to respond to that. I know that I'm one of the fastest tributes here, that I could beat them to the Cornucopia, but I still have no desire to join the Bloodbath. Haymitch seems to agree with me.

"It's too dangerous. That's making too many assumptions about the arena."

He's right. Who knows what it will be like? It could be a lake, or a swamp, or a city filled with rubble. Running may not even be an option. But still, it's apparently the only good quality they see in me. I have to make it work.

"I can do it," I say before I have time to overthink it. My team stares at me, their faces showing everything from disbelief to anger. I try to ignore them. "I can do it on the condition that there's actually somewhere to run. If the terrain is bad or the Cornucopia is sparse, then we go."

I feel Amelia's bracelet resting on my wrist, and somewhere in the back of my mind I register that I could be making a fatal mistake. Just like Amelia did six years ago, I'm negotiating a deal with District Two. The only thing I can do is hope that this doesn't cost me my life. I don't see many other options.

I send Haymitch an apologetic look. He looks angry, and I can't really blame him. I just went directly against what he's been arguing. He presses his lips together, and I have to look away. I don't want to see how disappointed he is.

I look over to Peeta and Katniss, and their expressions are both serious.

"Are you sure about this, Briar?" Peeta asks.

 _No._

"Yeah." I nod. "I am."

Everyone from District Two looks pleased with this turn of events. Well, everyone except Cato. He doesn't exactly look angry, just displeased. He was probably hoping that we would separate so that he wouldn't have to work with me at all.

"Well, that's settled then," Zella says cheerily, breaking the strained atmosphere. "At least someone among you is sensible."

"It's not sensible. It's suicide," Katniss says, anger tingeing her voice.

Everyone's heads snap to face her, including my own. I hadn't expected her to add anything, and I don't think anyone else did either. She's barely said anything all night.

"You're questioning our strategy?" Enobaria asks. Her words are calm, but I can hear the hostility laced within them. "That strategy has proven effective countless times, especially in comparison to those of District Twelve. You don't have to look farther than these Games. There are three tributes from District Two, and what do you have?" she asks, her eyes trailing over to me. She smiles a fake, predatory looking thing and turns back to Katniss. "Just the one."

My eyes narrow sharply at the woman. Everything I've come to believe about them—their cruelty, their lack of humanity—is confirmed in her statement. How dare she? She has no right to talk about them. She has no right to act like their deaths don't matter. Thalia and Collis deserve more than to have her talk about them.

Everyone on my team appears to be as furious as I am. Effie lets out a surprised gasp, and both Katniss and Haymitch have their eyes narrowed dangerously. But it's not their reactions that surprise me the most. No, it's Peeta's. His cheeks are bright red and his hand grips his fork so tightly that his knuckles have begun to turn white.

"Why don't you two leave?" Haymitch says, his voice deadly calm. "Let the grownups talk for a little."

I don't have to be told twice. I have no desire to be near them any longer. I can feel the anger simmering in my veins, the temptation to scream or hit something nearly overwhelming. I'm out of my seat and to the elevator in a matter of seconds. I barely register the heavy footfalls behind me. I don't take a breath until I'm in the elevator, jabbing the button to my destination.

Every nerve in my body is alive, and they refuse to settle when Cato steps into the car beside me. Thankfully he seems as eager to converse as I am. The only movement he makes is to press one of the buttons on the wall, his hand rising. It falls back to his side without pressing anything. Instead he stares at the button I've pressed: the bright yellow R. I realize that he meant to go to the roof as well. He probably expected me to go back to my floor. _Too bad._

The doors open, revealing the wide expanse of the roof. I step out, sucking in the air eagerly. The wind whips harshly against my body, but I welcome it. My skin still feels too hot. I lean against the railing, pressing my forehead to my palm as everything about the dinner rushes over me. I feel overwhelmed. Demetrius, Amelia, District Two, the arena—it's too much to handle. The urge to run, to escape, pricks at my skin, but I push it away. There's nowhere to go.

I don't know how long I stand there just listening to the sound of the wind and my breathing. I'm thankful for the quiet. I know it's the only peace I'm going to have for a long time.

I sense Cato's presence before he speaks. "What do you want?" I ask, glancing to the boy. I don't try to restrain the ire in my voice.

He holds his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I was just wondering why you did it. Agreed to go to the Cornucopia," he clarifies.

I turn back towards the city and roll my eyes. "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not," he says. "I'm just surprised, is all. Girl on Fire makes a good point. You might want to listen."

I send him a dark look. "I'll be fine, but thanks for your concern." I should stop talking before I say something I'm going to regret.

"Fine," he tells me with a shrug. "Just don't expect me to protect you."

I can't prevent the bark of laughter. He tenses slightly at the sound. "Believe me, your help is the last thing I was expecting. I'm not under any illusions about your desire to work with me."

"Good," he says.

"Good. Now that that's all cleared up, why don't you go back to your team? I wouldn't want to cripple your chances any more than I already have," I tell him. I really should stop talking now.

Cato stands silently, his eyes narrowing on my face. I can see his jaw tense under the lights of the roof. He crosses his arms, his face taking on a haughty expression.

"All of you are the same," he says.

I turn to fully face him, my own arms crossing defensively. "What do mean 'all of you'?" I ask indignantly.

"You people from outlying districts."

Heat rushes to my face. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he replies, anger and annoyance filling his voice. "You all have this hatred towards other districts because we win and we take pride in what we do. You hate us for being more successful than you."

"For…for being more _successful_?" I sputter, my anger bubbling over. I can't help but laugh at the stupidity of the statement. "There are a lot of reasons to hate your district and all the others that usually win, but it's not _because_ you win, it's because of _how_ you win."

"You mean by being the best?"

Something inside me snaps. "You're only the best because you spend your whole lives training for this! You stick children in schools and train them to be killers. They make it so that you enjoy this…this sick idea of a game. The odds are in your favor just based on where you're born. Unlike One, and Two, and Four, us _outlying_ districts have other things to worry about aside from the glory that the Games could bring us," I spit. As soon as I finish speaking, I feel terror begin to claw its way through my body. I've said too much—too many dangerous things.

"That's exactly what I mean," Cato says lowly as he takes a step closer to me. "You all have this idea in your head that we're mindless killers, that we're to blame for all of your problems. Did you ever stop to think that maybe the problems you have are your own fault?"

I know that I've said too much already, but I can't stop myself. Cato's anger fuels my own, and I can't hold it back. "Our fault? Yeah, you're right, we lose because of our own decisions. We're more concerned with staying alive than training for the Games. You don't care about anyone but yourself. None of you do. This is all there is to you. And it all works out for you. You're the only ones who want to kill anyone, which pretty much ensures that you'll win. People die for this. Kids who never stood a chance to begin with."

He takes another step closer, and I instinctively step back. The railing presses sharply against my back.

"You think that we're monsters because we're prepared for this, or because we train, or enjoy it, or don't feel sorry for you. But you're wrong," he says. "You think what we do is wrong, but have you ever stopped to actually think about it? We prepare so that we have the best possible chance of winning. We bring the children from our districts home. And what does your district do? They hide behind excuses, allow people who are completely unprepared to be reaped, and then complain about how they don't win."

Part of me freezes up at that, because he's right. They get to go home and the kids from Twelve or the other outlying districts are sent to their deaths. I've felt nothing but unprepared and helpless since arriving in the Capitol, but all of the Careers have been full of nothing but confidence. They know that they have a good chance of winning. They know that we don't.

 _No!_ I can't agree with him. They only perpetuate the problem. They do the Capitol's dirty work. They don't even question why the Games are wrong. They allow the Games to continue.

"You're right. Your district does bring children home, but that's nothing to be proud of." Confusion colors his face. I can't help but laugh, but there is no humor in it. "There's no glory in any of this, in what your district does."

"Stop talking about my district like you understand it," he growls.

"Then stop talking about mine," I bite back.

"This is never going to work," Cato says angrily. "You're nothing but a burden." He marches back towards the elevator, and I follow. The anger inside me is still trying to claw its way out.

"What did you call me?"

"You heard me, Twelve," he growls, rounding on me after jabbing the button. "You're nothing but a burden to me. Fortunately for you, I'll tolerate it for now."

"Why even bother?" I spit as the doors separate.

"Because right now, it's what they want. They don't know that this won't work. But the hype—all the fascination with us as a pair—will die down eventually. Not that it really matters," he says as he steps into the elevator. "I won't have to deal with you for much longer. Chances are you'll get yourself killed anyway."

The doors slide shut, and he's gone. I stand there facing the metal doors, cold air chilling my skin as my throat constricts. The wind dries the dampness from my cheeks before it has time to make its way down my face, but I wipe at them anyway.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **WOW DRAMATIC MUCH CATO AND BRIAR? So much tension already...**

 **lovewords: As you can see, there's already a lot of trouble between these two crazy kids. What will happen? I don't know... we'll have to see. On another note, it has been a rough go for Katniss and Peeta, that's for sure.**

 **SlyviaHunterOfArtemis: Cato is indeed a jerkface... Is every pairing male and female? The answer is no, it just sort of happened that the main ones I'm focusing on are male/female because I (think) have a pretty even spread of male and female characters so it just kind of happened.**

 **GreenOnBlack: Ahhh, glad you liked the chapter. And yeah, Briar is emotional, but not overly. She very much tries to think on the rational side, but we al know that's easier said than done.**

 **WhiteEevee: Ah yes, Briar is quite good at acting... sometimes. She's been doing it for years though so... We will definitely be seeing more of Zeppina and Jute, so be on the lookout. AHahahah Nervosa... It is a good name replacement for Nerissa.**

 **AlphaZero21: Yeah, I figured it would be pretty obvious, but the tension isn't supposed to be in the shock of the pairing. Hopefully the rest of the story makes up for it.**

 **Thanks for reading and for the reviews. It seriously means so much to me that you guys enjoy the story!**


	18. Chapter 17: The Weakest Link

**Chapter 17: The Weakest Link**

There is no shaking of my shoulder, no whispered voice in my ear to pull me from slumber. My mind is its own alarm, one that's insistent on keeping me awake. It won't let me sleep more than a few minutes at a time. I roll over and look towards the clock. 4:57. I turn onto my back and shut my eyes, willing my mind to stop working. I give up eventually, instead opting to stare blankly at the ceiling. The thoughts of the arena, of Cato's words, and everything else cloud my head and my vision. I can feel a deep ache behind my eyes, and I blink back the tears that are forming. They come too easily now. Calming myself down after the conversation with Cato was difficult enough, and it just got harder to control my emotions when I had to say goodbye. It felt different than last time, the absence of the other tributes felt more keenly than the rest of my time here. Their goodbyes were final and there's every chance that mine will be too.

I swallow shakily as I try to push the thought away. Everything moves in and out of focus as I move between sleep and wakefulness. Tomorrow looms heavily as my eyes finally drift closed.

I wake again at 6:30 as the sun filters into the room. I'm on full alert, the mere thought of the arena enough to wipe any remnants of sleep from my body. This is the last time I will be here, I think to myself. This could be the last of a lot of things for me. I shift my gaze away from the window when my door creaks open to reveal my designer.

"I thought you'd be up," he says as he steps into the room.

"You thought right," I tell him as I climb out of bed. I can't bring myself to smile in greeting.

Cinna offers one, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Here." He hands me a dress that's practically the same as the one I had before the first arena.

Everything after that is the same too. The hovercraft is just as cold, time just as slow, and my stomach just as uneasy. I walk slowly down through the underground halls. It seems larger than the previous one, but that might just be because I feel smaller than before. Now I don't have any illusions about what it will be like in there. My palms are sweating when we stop in front of one of the metal doors.

The guard pulls it open, practically shoving me inside. "Wait here," he says, and then he's gone.

The door clicks shut behind him, and I turn my gaze on the room. There's a door to my left and small table in the middle with food on it. I'm not hungry, but I know that I should eat. I don't know if it will make a difference though, because my stomach is doing somersaults. I walk over anyway. I really should eat. _Chances are I'd just throw it up._ I pick up roll, ignoring the way my hand shakes as I raise it up to take a bite. A few minutes pass just like that, me picking away at the bread while every nerve in my body comes to life.

"Wait here," someone says from behind me.

I hadn't heard anyone open the door. I turn towards the voice. Another guard stands there holding the door open, and Cato strides in, not sparing the man a glance. He catches sight of me, but his face is impassive.

I'm angry with him, and I'm terrified of him, and of the Games. I'm afraid of what's to come. My body is thrumming, but I don't cry now. The door swings shut behind him and it's just the two of us.

"Twelve," he says by way of greeting as he walks over. He grabs an apple off the table and takes a large bite.

I hadn't expected him to apologize, hadn't even let myself feel the slightest glimmer of hope that he would, but I find that I'm mad anyway. You can't just say things like that and pretend that nothing happened. But I guess he sees no reason to apologize—if he knows how, that is—because he's not expecting me to make it past the Bloodbath. He doesn't think that what he said was wrong. Why waste his breath? I shove the thought away because it only makes me angrier, my body shaking for an entirely different reason now.

Cato takes another bite before turning towards me. "Are you ready?" he asks.

His voice isn't soft like Cinna's or caring like Peeta's. My brows furrow for a moment before I realize what he means. He's not asking because he cares about how I feel emotionally. He wants to know if I'm mentally prepared—if I'm in the arena mindset. He isn't wasting any time.

I nod my head. "Yes."

"Are you really?" he asks, his voice stern. "Can I count on you to do what needs to be done?"

 _Count on me._ It's the first real implication of an attempt to work with me. Maybe he doesn't feel bad about what he said, but maybe he has thought better of it. Whatever the reason, I cling to the idea. I need this to work.

"I can handle it," I tell him.

He shakes his head as he looks over me. "You're practically shaking."

I don't want to him to know how I really feel. I don't want him to know how my body feels like a coil wound so tightly that it might snap any second. But I need him to understand that despite that, I'm being honest.

"I might be nervous," I concede, "but that doesn't mean that I'm not ready."

"You're going to have to be," he says. "A second of hesitation will mean the difference between life and death." His tone is sharp, but his look is somehow less hard, like he actually wants me heed his advice. "Any uncertainty will cost you. People die. They have to. That's just the way it is. You kill them and then you move on because if you don't, someone else will. The sooner you learn that, the better. Otherwise you might as well save both of us the trouble and give up now."

I nod slowly, a chill running up my spine at his words. I ignore the harshness because he's right and we both know it. Doubt, guilt, fear—they're luxuries I can't afford.

"So, I'll ask you again. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

He inspects my face and then nods. He takes another bite of the apple as the door swings open once again.

A Peacekeeper waves towards us. "Tribute Hadley, come with me. Tribute Kinross, go through that door," he says, pointing to the one on the left wall.

"See you in the arena, Twelve," Cato says before he walks past me and out the door and I'm left alone.

I have no choice but to follow the Peacekeeper's directions. They'd drag me there kicking and screaming if I didn't listen. I take a shaky breath and walk to the door. I'm not surprised by what I find when I open it. It's the launch room. The name is more appropriate than I realized, because I feel like I'm about to launch my breakfast right out of my stomach.

"Hello, Briar."

I flinch at the unexpected voice before turning to the source. "Cinna," I say with some relief as I try to command my heart to beat normally again.

"Sorry to startle you," he tells me, his voice apologetic.

"It's fine," I say. My body disagrees.

I shut the door behind me and trudge towards my designer, who's still smiling apologetically.

"Your clothes are already here." He points to a stack of fabric on the small metal table.

I gnaw at my lip and stare absentmindedly at the clothes. "How long?"

"Ten minutes," he tells me softly.

My nod is as stiff as the rest of my body, but I know it will only be a matter of time before the shaking takes over again.

Cinna picks up the clothes and passes them over to me. "Here, you should change."

I take them from him and do as he says while he continues speaking.

"I've already looked through them," he says. "The fabric is light and synthetic. Dries easily."

I pull on the pair of pants and note that he's right. They're long and tight, but I barely feel them. They're plain black and the shirt is just the same. It looks almost exactly like our training outfit.

"The boots are lightweight as well. Rubber, but flexible. Now the jacket," he says as he hands me a piece of green fabric, "it's light, but sturdy. I'd expect something wet."

I nod as I pull it on and zip it up. It takes me a couple tries with how shaky my hands have become again.

"Two minutes," a voice booms over the speaker.

Cinna reaches out and grabs my hand. I look down and see my fingers curled tightly around the string of Amelia's bracelet. I hadn't even realized I was playing with it.

"You can do this," he tells me in a soft, slow voice.

I'm reminded of his reassurances at the Tribute Parade, when he pulled my hands from the rim of the chariot. My nerves are exponentially worse now.

"I really hope you're right," I tell him, my voice just a touch hysterical.

The pain behind my eyes has returned and it's a lot harder to push it back this time. There is nothing else after this. I either win or I die.

"Twenty seconds to launch."

I jolt at the sound even though I had been expecting it.

"I can't," I say, frantically shaking my head, "I can't do this." Everything about the first arena comes rushing back to me, and it's crippling. My chest constricts, and I can't breathe. "I can't," I whisper as Cinna leads me to the tube.

"Ten seconds to launch."

"You can," Cinna tells me, his voice commanding. "Remember what I told you before the last arena?" I nod. "Good, because I still stand by them. You're strong enough to do this."

The platform starts to rise and I desperately choke out a thank you. The last thing I see of Cinna is a comforting smile. My breathing is erratic as blackness surrounds me. I will myself to calm down as I continue to rise. I cast a glance at the bracelet on my wrist before taking a few steadying breaths and squaring my shoulders.

I can see brightness above me and then suddenly it's surrounding me. I have to squint to see clearly.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the second arena of the Seventy-Fifth Hunger Games begin!" booms Claudius Templesmith's voice.

 _Sixty seconds._

My eyes widen in horror as I take in the area. There is only a narrow stone path in front of me. It has to be at least 300 feet long. Every tribute's podium has one, and they all lead to the Cornucopia. We will all be a part of the Bloodbath today. Lucky District Two. I guess I didn't have a choice anyway.

I'm going to be sick. I wonder if anyone will step off the podium early this time.

The Cornucopia is a glittering gold mass in the center of all the tributes. I see nothing but a single weapons rack inside and a couple of backpacks littered around the area. It's enough incentive to join the fighting.

 _47, 46, 45, 44…_

My heart sinks. We are stuck between two landmasses, one to my left and one to my right. I can hear the water rushing below me. I look down and immediately snap my head forwards again. It has to be at least 200 feet to the bottom of the canyon. It doesn't matter whether or not you can swim. Nobody could survive the drop.

 _39, 38, 37, 36…_

My eyes trail over the Cornucopia, looking for any way to escape. There is only one path on each side. It's impossible to get away without running into another tribute. How many people are going to die in the next few minutes?

 _31, 30, 29, 28…_

Both landmasses are covered in plants and trees that I am unfamiliar with. The warmth that surrounds me tells me that this is tropical, but the air is dry. It is beautiful just like the last arena, and it is most likely more dangerous. My stomach tightens when I catch sight of one of the remaining tributes from Four. They will be in their element.

 _23, 22, 21, 20…_

The air is hot, and so my mind immediately goes to water. Haymitch always says to find that first. But I see no source other than the canyon below me. The slopes of the landmasses are practically non-existent. It's impossible to climb down. With the water and the Cornucopia, making camp anywhere near here is impossible.

I hear something above me. I glance quickly at the bright sky and spot large white birds. I don't hear anything else aside from my harsh breathing and my racing heart.

 _16, 15, 14, 13…_

I look back towards the Cornucopia, my eyes landing on Cato. He looks determined and unafraid. We lock eyes for a brief moment, and he sends me a small nod. I return it and shift my gaze back towards the clock.

Adrenaline courses through me and I steady my legs below me. _Follow the plan._ I try to ease my nerves as I stare down my target. _Breathe._ I need to get there first.

 _I can do this. I have to do this._

I think of Mabel, and Mr. Fairbain, and Amelia, and my team. They're all rooting for me. I don't want to die. I wonder if they're proud I've made it this far.

 _4, 3, 2, 1._

I don't hear the gong as I leap from the podium and take off towards the center. My feet pound against the stone below me. _150 feet_. I can't make out anyone on either side of me _._ My heart beats furiously against my ribs. _50 feet._

The mouth of the Cornucopia swallows me when I reach it. I'm the first one there. I'm frantic for a moment. I don't know what to do. Light flickers off something to my left. _A weapons rack._ I run for it. I know that I only have a few more seconds until the others reach me. I grab the knife vest and throw it on.

I've been here too long. I pivot to run, but something stops me. My hand reaches for something else on the display. I cast a glance over my shoulder _._ Once I have it, I wrap my hands around the edge of the rack and push. I hear the sound of the weapons clattering to the ground as I take off. It's only then that I realize what I grabbed.

A sword.

There are people rushing at me from all sides. I spot Cato running in my direction and I sprint towards the path nearest him. His eyes are on me for a second and I take my chance. I yell out his name and throw the sword in his direction without stopping. I pray that he got to it because I don't look back. The other tributes ignore me as I break towards the main path. _Almost there. I can do this, I can get—_

I hear a screech, and I'm yanked back by the hood of my jacket.

"Where do you think you're going?" a girl hisses from behind me. I don't recognize the voice.

Pain shoots down my spine as I'm slammed back against the ground. The edges of my vision are blurry. My lungs squeeze painfully and my stomach drops. I'm trapped.

 _No, she doesn't have a weapon. I knocked the rack over._

She presses her weight into my shoulders. "You think that trick was funny?"

My vision clears and I catch sight of red hair.

 _Ivory._

Anger surges through me. The only thing I see is Barden on his knees and then I snap my head forward. I don't feel anything when our heads collide and she falls back with a cry. Something wet drips down my face but I ignore it.

It only takes her a few seconds to recover. We move at the same time. Her hand collides with my cheek moments before I throw my shoulder into her body. We collapse onto the ground. I barely taste the blood filling my mouth. My body is thrumming with energy, but I don't know what I'm doing. She is much more skilled at this than I am. Haymitch was right. I should have run. She's going to kill me.

We struggle on the ground until suddenly I'm on my back and she is above me. She drives her knee into my stomach. The pain is searing, but I refuse to scream. I won't show her weakness. There is no air in my lungs to scream anyway.

"Answer me!" she yells. The blood rushing in my ears drowns it out.

Her eyes are wide. A smirk pulls at her lips. She will enjoy killing me. She reaches for a knife from my vest. Suddenly Barden is there again and something takes over me.

"Actually, I did," I tell her as I drive my fist into her side.

She howls. I wrap my legs around her waist. I'm not strong enough to flip us, but she falls to the side. It's enough room to escape. I roll away, putting a little distance between us.

 _She killed him_ , my brain keeps chanting. My heart beats faster. I grab a knife from my vest.

She comes at me again, but I'm ready this time. I narrowly move away, but my arm remains in place. The knife slides easily through her stomach. She cries out. I let go of the knife as the momentum causes her to fall. I hear her whimper from the ground. I have room to run.

 _She killed him_.

I don't move.

She stumbles up, clutching the knife in her stomach. She steps towards me. I meet her halfway. We collide and fall to the ground. I'm beneath her, but I know that she won't put up much of a fight. I reach up and pull the knife from her stomach. She sways above me. It'll be easy now. I drive it forward again. Her eyes go blank and she collapses on top of me.

I'm frozen for a moment as she goes still. I don't hear anything other than my own breathing. Then I feel warm liquid spill onto my hand. I scramble to push her off me. The feeling of nausea is overwhelming. Her body moves easily. My senses rush back to me and I hear the sound of metal and screaming behind me. The Bloodbath continues. I look up in time to see a spear pierce the back of a boy from Eight.

"What are you doing?! Move!" I hear someone scream.

I don't know whom it's directed at, but I hurriedly pull myself up. I catch another glimpse of Ivory's lifeless body. _She deserved it; she killed Barden_ , I tell myself. _She deserved it_. I risk a glance behind me as I run. Her body is still on the stone. She's dead, and for a second I feel dead too. I did that. But then someone screams and I'm pulled from the moment.

The adrenaline still courses through my veins. My blood feels hot as I sprint across the stone path and away from the Cornucopia.

I hear the sound of something hitting the ground behind me. And again. And again.

 _Footsteps._

I pump my legs faster beneath me. I won't be caught again. My lungs burn as I break the tree line. There are plants and trees everywhere. The branches swipe painfully at my face. " _A second of hesitation will mean the difference between life and death."_ I don't slow down. I hear the sound of crunching behind me. I make a sharp left.

 _I'm not going to die._ The steps are heavy. They're definitely bigger than me. _No, stop it! I'm not going to die. I'm_ not _going to die._

I veer right again, and keep running. It must only be a few minutes, but suddenly there is no sound behind me. I slow my pace, but don't stop completely. I just need to catch my breath. I pull a knife from my vest, my eyes scanning the area.

"Relax, no need to be so afraid."

Fear jolts up my spine, and my eyes widen in terror.

 _Mace._

I spin around quickly, poising my knife to throw. "Don't come any closer," I say.

"Ah, come on, now. You're not going to kill me," he says with a smirk.

I pull my arm back. "Watch me."

"Don't do it, Twelve."

My arm falters. Cato steps through the trees and into my line of sight, stopping a few feet ahead of Mace. Nerissa follows shortly behind him. She stops next to her partner. My mouth goes dry. A feeling of betrayal settles in my stomach and my limbs go stiff.

 _This isn't happening. This can't be happening._

"What's going on?" I'm silently thankful that my voice sounds steady.

"Just put the knife down," Cato says. Even from this distance I can see him roll his eyes.

"You can't be serious," I grit out.

"What? Are you going to take all three of us down? Just do what he says," Nerissa sneers.

I glance between them. It only confirms what I already know. They're a team. I should have known this would happen. I kept telling myself that it would, and yet I still failed to fully grasp it. How could I have been so stupid? Cato really does think I'm dead weight. I wonder what the deal was. He gets to team up with them if he lets them kill me? Nerissa did call me as her kill, after all.

I still have the knife clutched in my hand, and I don't plan on dropping it anytime soon. They're all armed. Nerissa holds a trident loosely at her side, but I know that if she wanted it, I'd be dead before I really had time to move. Mace holds a spear in one hand, and my eyes narrow slightly when I spot the mace on his hip. _How fitting._ My eyes flicker over to Cato and my stomach sinks when I see the sword in his grip. I guess he got it after all.

I don't stand a chance against the three of them. I debate my odds of survival if I make a run for it, but Cato's voice breaks through the silence that has descended upon us.

"Relax, Twelve. We aren't going to kill you," he says, his voice sounding aggravated.

Nerissa's sneer falters.

Cato takes a few steps forward. His strides are long and he's in front of me in seconds. I tighten my grip on the knife.

"What's going on?" I repeat through clenched teeth.

Mace laughs again. "Aren't you an edgy one?" he says with a smirk. "Listen to Cato. We aren't here to hurt you. You'd be dead already if we were."

It's true. They could take me out easily. The sense of betrayal gives way to confusion. _Why aren't they going to kill me?_ I look between the three of them. It only takes me a couple of seconds to realize what's really going on, and I'm suddenly overcome with burning anger.

I lower the knife. I'm sure my face is flushed red, my shoulders shaking with barely suppressed rage.

"You can't be serious right now. An alliance? With _them_?" I ask incredulously, jerking my head towards the two Careers. They're staring at us, their faces twisted into amused smirks that I want nothing more than to wipe away. They enjoy seeing me riled. I don't want to give them the satisfaction, but I'm too angry to stop it. This was going to be enough trouble when it was just the two of us. Of course, I don't say that out loud because I know that there are cameras on us. This is all very entertaining, I'm sure.

Cato rolls his eyes before fixing me with a blank look. "Don't worry about it, Twelve. They won't try anything," he says, his voice taking on a tone that's not even a little reassuring. "Besides, having them around will be helpful. For the time being, anyway," he says quietly. I glance over at them. They aren't very far, but their faces show no signs of anger. They don't know what he said. I don't think it matters much, because I'm sure they know what he's thinking. I'm sure they're thinking the same thing.

I don't care about any of that though. My blood is still boiling and I narrow my eyes at him. Of course he thinks they'll be useful. He's probably still hoping one of them will kill me.

"You didn't think to mention this last night or this morning maybe?"

"No."

My jaw clenches tightly at his easy dismissal. "And why not? How could you not think this was important enough to tell me? How long have you been planning this?" I bite out.

He grabs my arm and pulls me further away from them. It takes every bit of strength I have not to stab the knife into his hand.

"I didn't say anything because I knew you'd react exactly like this," he retorts shortly when we stop.

I can tell he's done with the conversation, but I'm not letting him off this easily. I'm furious. I can't believe he'd go behind my back. Well, actually, I can. I just didn't expect that we'd be dealing with problems this early. I gave them what they wanted. I went to the Cornucopia, and what do I get for it? This.

"And how exactly should I react, Cato? Just a few days ago she wanted me dead, and I doubt that's changed. She called me as her kill." I don't say anything about Mace, even though in some ways he scares me more than Nerissa.

He's silent for moment, and I actually start to wonder if something I've said has gotten through to him, but then he shrugs and I know he doesn't care about what I think of the situation.

"That was then, the situation is different now. An alliance will get us farther in the arena," he says. "They'll only be around so long as they're useful."

 _Useful._ The word brings back memories from the before the Games, memories of the penthouse, and arguing, and Karn and his Career-like arrogance. My eyes narrow further and my stomach turns as I think back to a couple days ago, when I was forced to kill him.

I shake my head, scowling deeper at my partner. "It's too risky. They'll turn on us in a second," I say, my voice sounding more desperate than I would like. Cato continues to stare blankly, and I suddenly have the desire to punch him in the face. "Damn it, Cato, you know alliances never pay off. Thinking like that almost got me killed in the first arena. It got my sis⎯"

I snap my mouth shut before I can finish the sentence. Cato's eyes narrow dangerously and the air suddenly feels thick with tension. You could hear a pin drop in the silence that falls over us. I won't talk about her to him. If I let myself think about her, I know I won't be able to work with him. Cato doesn't seem any more eager to continue the line of thought because he takes a step closer to me, his voice dropping slightly.

"Listen, Twelve. I don't care what happened in the first arena. I'm here to win, and I'll do whatever it takes," he says. He's too close, but I won't let myself take a step back. I'm sick and tired of being afraid of him.

We glare silently at each other before he adds, "And if memory serves, you said the same thing just this morning. Or have you changed your mind?"

He's challenging me, and I realize that this is it. I really have no choice. My only other option is to leave, and they'll kill me the second I turn my back. I've been backed into a corner. My skin prickles as I place the knife back into my vest. There's only one thing I can do. Chances are I'm going to regret this.

I place a hand on Cato's chest and push him away. He moves back easily, clearly not putting up much resistance. "No, I haven't. But if either of them"— _any of you_ —"try something, I won't hesitate to fight back," I say, sending him one more glare over my shoulder before walking towards my new alliance members.

 _Off to a great start already._

Mace and Nerissa turn to fully face us as we approach.

"Is everything worked out? Or is there going to be a problem?" Nerissa asks. I see her lips twitch slightly and I know what answer she is hoping for.

"No problem," I say, sending her a false smile. I don't know why she wants me dead so badly. I didn't think people from District Four were usually this bloodthirsty. Either way, I feel a little satisfaction in seeing her deflate.

"Good to hear," Mace says, his lips twisting. "Welcome to the team."

"Right," Cato says, his voice sounding bored. "Let's get moving. We need to find a place to set up camp."

The other two nod and start walking away. I'm surprised for a second at how quickly they follow his instruction. I thought they would at least argue with him, try to take charge a little. But it's clear that Cato is the leader of this makeshift alliance, for the moment at least. They must still recognize him as the main threat.

I follow after them, but I make sure to keep some distance. I don't want to be any closer than necessary. Some part of my brain is afraid that they'll rub off on me if I get too close. It's irrational, but I let the feeling control me anyway.

I hear Cato's footsteps behind me. I'm still fuming and the crunching annoys me more than it should. His steps are impossible to miss they're so loud. I tell him as much.

"You should try to walk more quietly," I say over my shoulder. "Or you're going to alert everyone within a ten mile radius."

Cato scowls at me, but then he smirks. "Let them come, then."

The glint in his eye makes me swallow heavily and I face forward again. I don't want to run into any more tributes. I don't want to have to fight anyone else. _I don't want to kill again._

I suddenly become aware of the blood smeared across my hands and my head aches from when I hit Ivory. My chest constricts. I killed her. I try to justify it to myself- _One of us had to die. She attacked me first-_ but I _wanted_ her dead. I had the chance to escape and I didn't take it. The moment I recognized her, I made up my mind. The thought terrifies me. It makes me feel like one of _them_. I feel the remorse build in my chest as I look at my hands, but then I see Amelia's bracelet. Ivory killed Barden, I remind myself, and the feeling lessens. I don't feel good. I just feel less. I hold onto to that feeling because it's the only way I'm going to make it through this.

I shiver when I think how many people my allies must have killed in the Bloodbath. The screams and the image of the spear in the boy's back are lodged in my head, and I feel sick again. But it's equal parts directed at them and myself. They killed other tributes in cold blood, but so did I. And now I'm working with them. I'm afraid to know what the people in my district think of me. They're probably disgusted by what I'm doing. They understand doing what's necessary to survive, but this might be too far, even for them.

The guilt sits heavy in my stomach, and so I try to focus on what's going on around me. I take one of the knives from my vest and walk with it gripped tightly in my hand. The last thing I need is for someone to sneak up on me. The forest is quiet, and it makes me uneasy. Not that I'd feel any better if it were loud. But still, the quiet makes me restless because every sound could be a potential threat. Being sandwiched between a bunch of Careers only makes it worse. Fear prickles underneath my skin, threatening to claw its way out. I try my best to suppress it because the impulse to run only grows the more I think about it.

 _Focus_. I can't let them get to me. I'm not stupid enough to let my guard down completely around them, but I can't be distracted by my fear of them either. _Stay focused._

I let my gaze travel over the surrounding brush. It's thick and green, and the trees tower over us. It feels oppressive because I can't see more than few feet through the thicket. It's the perfect environment for sneaking up on someone, and it will be hard to move through if I try to get away.

The bright side is that there has to be some food with this much vegetation. A jolt of relief goes through me when I spot an apple tree, but the feeling dissipates when I get a better look. _Manchineel: poison_. My stomach sinks when I take a closer look at our surroundings. I can't identify everything, but I can see enough to know that there is poison everywhere: oleander, castor beans, cowhage, lantana, trumpet vines, pangi… I'm suddenly glad that I focused so much on the poisonous plants and insects station in training, because I have no desire to end up like last year's female tribute from Five. I guess they really are going all out for the Quarter Quell. There are plenty of non-poison plants too, I note. I give silent thanks to the gamemakers for actually putting something in the arena that I can control.

"Why are we doing this again?"

I'm pulled from my thoughts as soon the words reach my ears. I glance up to the two people walking in front of me. Mace pushes the brush away aggressively as Nerissa's raspy voice travels back to me.

"Seriously, Mace, we'd be better off without them."

I narrow my eyes at their forms. I'm not hearing anything new, but it still makes my blood boil.

"Relax. We could use Cato's help for now. He wouldn't risk taking on the both of us," Mace replies. "And as for her… She's harmless. She won't be a threat later. We don't have to worry about her."

I huff out a breath, my grip on my knife tightening. Heat rushes to my cheeks. Everyone across Panem can hear what they're saying, and I can't do anything about it. I don't know if Cato can hear them over the sound of his stomping footsteps, but he wouldn't come to my defense anyway. I'm afraid to even let myself think about how Haymitch is reacting to this. I let myself get tricked and backed into a corner. I can't imagine he's too happy right now. Did he know about this—this alliance? I can't believe that he would have ever allowed this to happen, but that just means he was tricked, too. If that's the case… No, I just have to make myself indispensable to them. The only question is how.

"We should stop here," I hear Cato say from behind me.

I pull to a stop, as do Mace and Nerissa. I scan the area. It doesn't look like anything special, but I guess it doesn't look dangerous either. But still, I would prefer to keep moving.

"We're still close to the Cornucopia. Shouldn't we move a little further?" I ask.

"We're far enough," Cato replies shortly.

I fight the urge to send him a glare. I have to at least pretend for the sake of sponsors that I don't completely hate him. "I don't think the others have made it very far. Not in this terrain. It won't be hard for them to find us."

He raises an eyebrow in my direction, and I immediately know what the answer is. I don't know why I bothered asking after his reply to the footsteps comment. He's hoping they'll come looking.

"Besides, it'll make the hunt more fun," Mace adds, his face twisting into a smirk.

I bite down on my lip to keep from showing the disgust on my face. _The Hunt._ I don't know how that managed to slip my mind. The thought of participating in it makes bile rise in my throat, but it's not like I can back out. I have to at least pretend to be one of them or they'll kill me for getting in their way.

The sound of something hitting the ground pulls my attention away from my thoughts. My eyes land on Mace, whose lounging against a tree. It makes me realize how tired I am. It's hot in the arena, but it's not the oppressive heat we have back home. It's dry, but even so, I can feel the sweat dripping down my back and the thirst scratching at my throat. I collapse back against a tree, too.

Cato and Nerissa don't seem to be bothered at all by the heat of the arena. It makes sense, considering their districts. From what I remember from school, District Two is located in a desert and Four is right on the sea. They must be used to this kind of weather by now. They'll need water soon though. We all will.

I try to remember what I saw when we were walking. I don't remember seeing anything other than plants. I retrace it a couple of times to be sure, but the result is the same every time—all plants and no water. _Great, now I have to worry about dehydration._

"We need to find a water source," I say.

They all stare at me for a minute. I figure it has nothing to do with the actual suggestion, because even as Careers, they aren't stupid enough to try to make it through the arena without any water. They're probably surprised I'm talking— _or surprised that I have the_ audacity _to make plans_. They snap out of it a moment later.

"There's water in the canyon by the Cornucopia. We can just go there," Nerissa replies. She says it slowly, and I narrow my eyes at the implication.

Maybe the Careers _are_ stupid.

"How exactly do you suggest we get down there?" I ask. I try to keep my tone neutral, but I don't think I do a very good job.

"Just because you aren't capable, doesn't mean the rest of us aren't," she says.

I open my mouth to reply but Cato beats me to it.

"It's too steep to climb down. There has to be another way to get water."

Nerissa huffs, but doesn't speak. I can't help the tiny smirk that makes its way onto my face. Although, I almost wish Cato hadn't told her that and just let them try. At least then they'd probably end up getting themselves killed and I wouldn't have to worry about them.

"We need to figure out a food supply," Cato says a moment later.

It's my turn to raise an eyebrow. Careers actually thinking about survival skills? I let my eyes trail over my alliance members, and my question is answered. They only have one backpack and it doesn't look particularly large. I think back to what I saw at the Cornucopia. There was nothing other than weapons inside, and there were only a couple backpacks interspersed throughout the surrounding area. I frown slightly. No visible water sources, poison everywhere, no caches of food or medicine… The climate's going to be a huge factor. This whole arena is based on survival skills. This could work to my advantage, especially since the Careers know so little about them. Maybe I'm not so disposable after all.

"You've got some skills with animals, don't you, sweets?" Mace asks.

It takes me second to realize he's talking to me. I narrow my eyes at him when I do.

"You watched the recap, didn't you? And don't call me that," I say with a scowl. He's repulsive.

His lip curls into a sneer and my scowl deepens. He turns towards Cato and Nerissa, who both look annoyed.

"She's got the food covered. What's next?"

"She doesn't have anything covered," Cato says. I turn my glare on him. "She doesn't hunt."

"I can make snares." _That's more than you can do._

"Yeah, Cato. Sweets can make snares. Besides, there's food everywhere," Mace says as he plucks a bunch of red berries off a tree next to him.

My glare switches back. He's mocking me—he's mocking both of us, actually. He's trying to take control. My eyes drift to the berries in his hand. It only takes a second of inspection to know what they are. The temptation to keep the information to myself is tempting. It would solve a lot of problems for me. I don't owe Mace anything. I feel no obligation to this _alliance_ that I wasn't a part of making. But telling him would prove that I know something that he doesn't. It would show everyone in the Capitol that I might just have a leg up right now, that I'm still in this. I let my gaze shift back to the boy from One.

"I said don't call me that. And I wouldn't eat that if I were you," I say.

Mace ignores me and brings the food closer to his lips. I shrug and say, "Fine. If you want to end up like the girl from Five last year, be my guest."

His arm drops back to his side.

"What was that?" he asks, his voice losing every ounce of the mocking tone it had. "Something you want to share?"

I can feel Cato and Nerissa's eyes on me. I force myself to be nonchalant and say, "I said I wouldn't eat those."

"And why's that?"

I can hear the impatience in his voice. He doesn't like to play the game unless he's controlling it. I send him a smile, the same one I used in the training center to show that he wasn't getting to me. "Because they're poisonous."

"How do you know?" Nerissa's incredulous voice sounds from my right.

My smile widens slightly. I don't want to get ahead of myself because this could backfire at anytime, but right now, they need me. I've just bought myself some insurance in this alliance.

"Because I remember them from training," I say. "Those are rosary peas. If you eat them, you can expect to spend the next couple of days vomiting and hallucinating while the rest of your body shuts down. Then you die," I add with another smile.

She sends me a glare. "And why should we trust what you say?"

"Because I'm the only one here who bothered to go that station. But by all means, go ahead and eat one if you don't believe me," I say, the smile never leaving my face.

 _Please, eat one._

My eyes flicker over to Cato for a moment, and I have no doubt that he knows exactly what I'm doing. His arms are crossed over his chest and he's staring at me intently with that same unreadable expression. I look away. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything.

Nerissa's face contorts into anger, but she doesn't reach for the fruit. Some part of her must believe me, so I figure this is the best time to drive my point home.

"The whole arena is filled with poison, actually," I say as I scan over the area before my eyes fall back on my team. I school my face into a neutral expression, but my relief is fueled by the displeasure on all of their faces. They weren't expecting this.

"Is that so?" Mace asks.

I nod. "Yup. Did you not notice?"

He looks skeptical and more than a little annoyed. "So all of these plants," he says with a vague gesture to the surrounding area, "are toxic?"

"No, not all of them. But a lot of them."

"And you're the only one who knows which ones." It's a statement, not a question, and it's the first time Cato has spoken.

I turn to face him, and this time, I'm unable to keep the full smirk from my face. "So it would seem."

Everyone is quiet for a minute as they let the information sink in. I take a moment to think about how the Capitol and the rest of Panem are reacting to the news, because I'm positive that we are on camera right now. I'm sure sponsors will be excited by it and if I have any other fans, they probably will be too. I hope that Mr. Fairbain and Mabel are watching. My odds have just gotten better.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **So now the arena has begun... What do you guys think is going to happen next?**

 **SecretsWithSouls00: AHH, you're so sweet. I'm really glad you like my writing (: Thanks for reading!**

 **SlyviaHunterOfArtemis: There's definitely a lot of questions up in the air when it comes to these two. You'll just have to wait and see.**

 **Arveldis14: Phew, it's always really relieving to hear that someone likes your character. Exploring the psychological effects was part of the reason I started to write this story to begin with so that definitely plays an important part. Hopefully you'll like what's to come.**

 **WhiteEevee: Thanks so much for this beautiful review (: I was a litter unsure of that opening, and I rewrote it about 6 times, so I'm happy it wasn't terrible lol and that it made sense lol. Briar definitely has the sass down, especially when dealing with people she doesn't like. Zella and Effie were honestly two of the most fun characters to write. They're just so over the top. She's a bit crazy for agreeing to the Cornucopia, but she's alive!... for now.**

 **Mely-the-Mockingjay: She's hanging in there... sort of. We'll see what happens when she gets more interaction with Cato under her belt.**

 **INeedMore24: Unfortunately, with my schedule and my thesis and all the jazz, I don't really have the time to update more often. Plus, my lovely beta reader needs time to edit so we'll be sticking to every Friday.**

 **FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: Will Cato every stop being an ass? Probably not. I think it's engrained by now.**

 **Thanks for the amazing round of reviews! It seriously means so much and really helps me keep going. Til next Friday!**


	19. Chapter 18: Boundaries

**Chapter 18: Boundaries**

 _1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10._

The anthem fades out and I blow out a steadying breath. Ten people. Nearly half of us gone—half of the competition. I barely feel guilty about the relief that settles low in my stomach. _Only 12 more people to go._

"How long are we going to wait around doing nothing?" Nerissa drawls out. "We're wasting time." She obviously wants to get started on the remaining twelve.

"We aren't wasting anything," Cato says with a roll of his eyes. "It's not even dark yet."

Right. We need to wait until it's dark so that we can sneak up on the other tributes. It will make killing them that much easier. It's not like they killed enough people in the Bloodbath.

I squint up at the orange sky. The sun is just barely beginning to set, but it's been hours since we've been in the arena. It's the opposite of the previous one, where darkness came early and lasted the majority of the day. I'm not familiar with this climate, but something tells me that sunlight lasts much longer than nighttime in here. I don't see how hunting at night makes much sense. We'll be just as blind as the other tributes and the terrain doesn't really lend itself to sneaking around. It's not like that will stop them though.

Cato sighs but doesn't reply to Nerissa. I suppress the urge to smirk at his obvious displeasure. It's nice to know that I'm not the only one who doesn't like her.

"Relax, Nerissa. The fun will start soon enough," Mace says.

They all smirk at that and I have to look away.

I push myself off the ground. "I'm going to check on the snares," I say as I begin to walk away.

"I'll help," Mace says, moving to follow.

I narrow my eyes and turn back around. "I'm good, but thanks."

He's standing now, and I have to fight to stop myself from backing away. "Come on, birdy. You shouldn't be wandering around on your own. You could get hurt," he says, a leer forming and a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth

A chill runs up my spine at the thought of being alone with him. I'm equal parts annoyed though. I know what kind of game he's playing and I'm not going to back down. "I think I'll be fine."

"I'm just saying. It's dangerous out there."

I open my mouth to reply, but Cato beats me to it. "Drop it, Mace. It doesn't take two people to check snares. If she gets herself killed, that's her problem."

I shoot him a sarcastic smile. Still, I'm glad he said something. Mace looks annoyed—no doubt angry that Cato is ruining his fun—but drops back to the ground without another word. The fake smile melts from my face, and I blow out a small breath in relief as I pivot and walk away. I'm actually thankful of Cato's lack of caring for a moment. I throw a fleeting glance over my shoulder, unable to fight off the apprehension of turning my back to them.

There's almost no chance that there's anything caught in the snares, but I keep walking anyway. Thankfully there was rope in the backpack Nerissa got from the Cornucopia. Anything I can do that to make them need me more is worth it. And it's an added bonus that it gets me away from them.

By the time I reach the snare, my suspicions are confirmed—it's empty. I'm not particularly hungry, but I know that any food I can get will be helpful. I doubt it will catch anything before it gets dark, which means we'll have to start the Hunt without eating. _And without water._ The thought of it reminds me to how hot I am, and I shift uncomfortably at the sweat I feel dripping down my neck. It really should be a priority over the Hunt, but I know that they'll ignore me. If only I could get away long enough to find water for myself. They can die of dehydration for all I care.

But of course, I know that's not really an option. Unless I suddenly decide that I want to die… then I can fight against what they want. Until then, I just have to do what they say.

With a sigh, I head back to the others. I may not want to be around them, but I also don't trust the three of them alone together. I can't risk them planning anything behind my back. I feel anger flicker through my veins when I think back over the last few hours. This is all Cato's fault. I can't trust them when I'm with them, but I can't leave them alone either. I don't want to act like them, but if I don't, they'll kill me.

I internally grumble, my steps more like stomps. _His fault._

Something snaps to my right and I freeze in place. I reach for one of the knives from my vest, trying to move as subtly as possible. I hear more rustling, but nothing appears. Slowly, I glance up. It's the birds from before, the ones from the Cornucopia. They look like pelicans with their large beaks. But I doubt it's a normal bird. I doubt anything in this arena is normal. I eye it carefully as I turn to leave. I'd rather not die from a bird attack, but I'm sure some people in the capital would love the irony.

It's still bright out despite being late.

"I'm hungry," Nerissa whines.

It's punctuated by a glare in my direction, like I'm the one to blame. Everyone ignores her.

"How are we supposed to do anything in here if we don't have anything to eat?" she continues.

I want to laugh at her. This is probably the only time in her entire life that she's been hungry. But laughing won't help anything—especially considering that I'm getting hungry as well. I'm sure we all are. I checked the snares a few minutes ago and they were still empty. If only we could just ask like Barden did.

 _No. Stop thinking about him._

Nerissa turns her huffing face towards Cato. "I thought you said she could hunt."

I narrow my eyes but don't respond.

He doesn't bother looking up from whatever it is that he's doing. "I never said that. In fact, I said the exact opposite."

She huffs again and mutters something that sounds like worthless under her breath.

"You're welcome to try to get your own food," I say sweetly. "I'm sure you could figure it out." I feel a surge of energy as she glares at me because I know that she can't hurt me—for now at least. I might regret my behavior in the future, but right now, I'm just glad it gets her to stop talking.

"Well, we need to eat."

 _Spoke too soon._

She's right though. We do need to eat and I've made myself the go to person for that.

"Yeah, sweets. We gotta eat," Mace says. "If you don't feed us soon… Well," his lips curve dangerously, "even you're starting to look like a meal."

My face is carefully blank at his statement, even though I can feel my insides twist painfully. "I thought I asked you not to call me that."

He sends me an apologetic smile that doesn't even come close to sincere. "Sorry, I get like this when I'm hungry."

I send a glance towards Cato. Unsurprisingly, he makes no move to intervene. Not that I need him too. But still, it would be nice.

"Right," I say, throwing my glance back towards Mace. "I'll get right on it."

Maybe it's paranoid of me, but I make sure that I'm far enough away that they can't see which plants I go for and which ones I ignore. I don't need them taking what little advantage I have away from me. I briefly contemplate grabbing something poisonous. It's not like they would ever know. A surge of guilt rushes through me. I can't believe I'm actually having these thoughts. I don't want to feel guilty, because I know they would kill me in a heartbeat. But I haven't lost that much of myself yet.

I scan over the area quickly, debating what to grab. If this is going to be my only advantage in the arena, I need to milk it for all its worth. But how? There aren't many options if I don't outright poison them, and I'm only helping them by bringing them food. But it's not like I could lie and say there isn't any, unless… They have no choice but to eat what I tell them. I'm the only one who knows the difference between what's poisonous and what's not.

My lips press themselves into a thin line as the idea forms. I may not be able to justify poisoning them straight out, but limiting their food supply is a different story. The more food I deem poisonous, the less supply they have when we inevitably split up. There's no guarantee it will have a big effect, but anything that will make their time in the arena more difficult is worth it.

I'm back in a matter of minutes with a few different nuts, plants, and berries, and the look they all give me is similar to Zeppina's during the first arena: blatant distaste.

"Here," I say unceremoniously.

I know it's not what they're used to, but they could at least pretend to be thankful.

"You expect us to eat this?" Nerissa says.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from glaring at her. "I don't expect you to do anything, Nerissa."

"She has a point," Mace says. "How do we know it's not poison?"

They all pin me with matching looks of suspicion.

I roll my eyes and bite into one of the shrubs. "See, no poison," I say as I swallow it down.

The weary look doesn't leave their faces—that is until Cato rolls his eyes and takes an aggressive bite out the food. _Maybe I_ should _have stuck some poison in there._

No. Even the thought of it makes me feel guilty. Not that they deserve it—my guilt. But still, there's a difference between fighting for my life when someone is attacking me and actively planning out someone's death. It'd be the smart thing to do, but…

I tamp down any thoughts of Ivory, of how I didn't have to kill her. Of how I could have gotten away. There's no point in thinking like this. As much as hate to admit it—even if it's just to myself—Cato was right. People have to die and it's either me or them.

"Are you even listening?" Cato practically growls from my left.

I snap my attention back to the group, trying to stop the heat from rushing to my face. I don't want anyone thinking I'm stupid or spacey.

"Sorry, what?"

Cato is staring at me with an intensity that makes me want to shrink away. Mace and Nerissa, on the other hand, wear matching smirks, their mouths curved and feral.

"It's time to go."

 _It's time to start Hunting._

No matter how softly we walk, the twigs snap beneath our feet. It doesn't help that the trees seem to be shedding their leaves at an alarming rate, leaving us more exposed than I would like. Every breeze is nearly enough to make me twitch in nervousness. The fear fights for dominance with a million other emotions, though. Anger, frustration, horror over what we're doing—they all clash uncomfortably beneath my skin. We're like a pack of wild animals, joining together for power to hunt our next meal.

But I've spent years working for a butcher, carving up the meat of animals of the same nature. Even the pack becomes the meal eventually. I shove the thought away. I have to make it through tonight before I start worrying about anything else.

Cato leads us forward through the thicket. I trail several feet behind the others. Lagging too far behind is dangerous, but the fear of Mace and Nerissa partially cancels out my fear of other tributes sneaking up on me. They walk carelessly, their weapons hanging from the their hands. I'm not fooled though. They're just as alert as I am.

We pull to a stop when the anthem begins. We're all eager to see what's left of our competition. The first face to appear is Ivory. There is a sharp tug in my chest like guilt but I ignore it just like I ignore the blood that I know remains on my jacket. I had seen their questioning gazes earlier, but no one has asked me about it, for which I'm grateful. The face of a girl from three follows. Fuse comes after that. I feel no sadness over his death; I try to pretend I don't feel a little satisfaction either. There's a girl from Five, and just like that a whole district is eliminated. One of the boys from Seven comes next—the one without the lisp. I'm glad he's out of the way. Both girls from Nine appear. Another district gone. There is a girl from Ten, and a boy and girl from Eleven, and then the anthem fades into the background as the Capital logo disappears from the sky.

Ivory is the only Career gone today, and the thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It's something that I think my alliance will agree with me on. For the most part, it's the most difficult competition that remains. While unsurprising, it's still incredibly frustrating. I shake my head to rid it of the useless thoughts. There are other things I need to focus on right now, like the boy from One who is currently sending me an amused look. I didn't realize that he dropped back to me. I try not shiver at his proximity.

"What?" I say, somewhat more aggressive than I mean to. I don't want him to know that he's getting under my skin.

"Just wondering how you're holding up, birdy. We've been walking for a while. Wouldn't want you to get too tired."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks for your concern, but I'm okay," I say, striding forward.

"Are you sure?" he says, taking a step closer to me. " 'Cause I could carry you if you'd like. Piggyback ride, maybe?"

I come to a halt, and I know that my face scrunches up in disgust of its own volition. My repulsion is no doubt clear to all the people of Panem. He stops, too, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Thanks for the generous offer, but I'll have to pass." I move to step forward again, but he blocks the path. He's reaching all new levels of repulsive.

He takes another step towards me, the smirk never leaving his face. "You sure, sweets?"

My fingers twitch towards one of the knives in my vest. "Positive," I say with as much finality as I can muster. I feel disgusting though. I know he's just toying with me, that he wouldn't risk anything more because that wouldn't go over well with sponsors. But the uneasiness churns in my stomach nonetheless, the desire to flee increasing with every look he sends my way.

He looks ready to speak again before a voice interrupts from behind him. Cato shoots Mace an annoyed look and says, "Stop messing around. We're wasting time," before taking off again. Mace sends me one last look before following. Cato's interruption couldn't have come at a better time. His tunnel vision might actually come in handy.

I take a deep breath and continue walking, making sure that there is plenty of space between Mace and me as my heart returns to a normal pace.

"Hey, Twelve!" I hear Nerissa call from up ahead. "Get over here."

I roll my eyes at her demanding tone but approach anyway. There's no reason to make her hate me more than she already does. Getting pushed around certainly isn't any way to win sponsors, so I don't let myself think about how I look on camera.

"What is it?" I say once I catch up.

"Are these poisonous?" she asks, pointing to a small reddish fruit on the ground beside her.

I immediately recognize it as a palm fruit. _Is it poisonous?_ No _._ _Should it be?_

"Yes."

She looks skeptical. "What happens if you eat it?"

What should it cause? "Internal hemorrhaging," I respond.

She makes a noise of displeasure and stomps ahead. My eyebrows knit in confusion, but I don't hesitate to follow after the group. She was probably just testing me, which makes no sense considering she doesn't know if I'm right or wrong. I'm sure some of the people watching throughout Panem, probably some of the mentors too, have picked up on my lie. Not that they know it's one. For all they know, I just have no clue what I'm talking about. Hopefully it makes Mace and Nerissa look stupid for putting their trust in me.

We spend the next couple of minutes like that—Nerissa or Mace pointing to various plants and me either deeming them edible or not. I always tell the truth about the poisonous ones. I'm not quite as truthful with the edible ones though, even going so far as to make up symptoms for good measure. Cato never joins. Instead, he marches forward with a somewhat gruff expression. It's different than what I saw on the footage of the first arena. There, he seemed to be having fun, laughing along with the other Careers like the Games are some kind of joke. I must be putting him in a bad mood.

The thought makes me perk up a bit.

"Well look what we have here," Mace purrs.

Any happiness I feel vanishes in an instant. We've found our first kill. It's a boy I don't recognize. He's going through a backpack, completely unaware of our presence.

"He's mine," says Mace.

The others agree, watching as the boy from One stalks towards his prey. I have to look away. I swallow heavily when I catch the looks of satisfaction on the faces of Cato and Nerissa. This needs to be done if I want to win, I repeat to myself. It does little to make me feel better. The silence of the arena is broken by the sound of the boy's scream. My chest constricts uncomfortably with the mere thought of what's happening. I can hear Mace's heavy footsteps and the sound of a struggle.

A branch snaps and there's a gasp from somewhere to my left. I pivot on the spot, holding out my knife in front of me. The person is almost completely obscured by the brush, but I recognize the sound—I recognize her.

 _Zeppina._

My gaze lands on a small silver tube she's holding and then darts back to her face. We lock eyes and for a moment, neither one of us moves. Seconds pass and a cannon booms from somewhere above. She breaks eye contact and takes off.

Cato is suddenly behind me, his voice low in my ear. "What is it, Twelve?" The question is innocent, but I hear the anger underneath the calm tone.

I shake my head. "Nothing. I thought I heard something, but I was wrong."

I turn to face the boy and my heart drops. Rage colors his features, and I can't help but take a step back. His eyes are cold as they scan over me, freezing me to the spot. I was afraid of him before, but this is a whole new level of fear. This Cato looks ready to kill, and I'm the target. My pulse pounds heavily as I wait for him to move, but he just stands there.

"Did you see his face?!"

Just like that, the trance is broken. Cato sends me one more deadly glare before facing Mace. I swallow heavily and do the same.

"He barely even put up a fight," Mace says with a laugh. I try my best to focus on them and not the boy simmering in anger next to me.

Nerissa laughs. "How did he even manage to make it this far?" They laugh again and Nerissa stakes her claim for the next kill.

"Let's get moving," Cato says. I shiver at the anger in his voice. It seems to take Mace and Nerissa off guard, but they don't question him.

Ignoring Cato is impossible as we walk through the forest. He's behind me, but I don't need to turn around to know that he is glaring at the back of my head. There's the sound of Mace making suggestive comments to Nerissa, but even though they are no more than ten feet ahead, their voices sound distant to my ears. My pulse beats furiously as I try to think of something, anything, that can ease this tension. I discard everything that comes to mind though. I'm too afraid to speak, and I have a feeling Cato isn't too eager to talk to me right now.

Instead I choose to focus on the dryness of my throat. We've been here almost a full day, and still there has been no sign of water. The temperature has lessened somewhat, but it does little to ease the ache in my throat. It doesn't take long for dehydration to set in, and if this keeps up, it will soon. And when it does, I don't want to be near any of the Careers. I contemplate whether or not I should say anything. They all seem keen on continuing the Hunt, but I can't believe they'd be stupid enough to ignore the necessity of water. In reality, finding a water source is the first thing we should have done. There's no hope of winning if you don't have one. The thought decides the issue for me.

"We need to find water."

Mace and Nerissa stop and turn to face me. I still can't see Cato, but his steps are no longer audible, and so I know that he too has stopped.

"What was that, Twelve?" Nerissa asks.

"We need water. The arena is too hot. We shouldn't do anything else until we have some."

They stare at me for a second before nodding their heads. My shoulders sag in relief. They must be thirsty too.

"We should make camp first," Cato says from behind me. The anger hasn't dissipated from his voice. "We can split up. Two of us will look for water while the others rest."

Mace and Nerissa nod in agreement and I have no choice but to nod along as well.

"Nerissa and I will look first," Mace says.

I want to protest, but the words die in my throat. Cato, Mace, Nerissa—I don't want to be partnered with any of them. They're all dangerous, so in the end, it doesn't matter. At least I'll get this confrontation over with. I just hope it's not the last conversation I have. Mace and Nerissa take off, and then it's just me and Cato.

"What the hell was that, Twelve?" he growls.

I don't know what to do, so I pretend to be confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb," he says, taking a step closer to me. "You think I didn't see that? That I didn't see you let your little friend escape? Why did you let her get away?"

I swallow nervously. I open my mouth, but I can't defend myself. "I…"

"What, Twelve? Spit it out." He waits a few moments for me to respond, but I can't. "She should be dead right now."

"What should I have done, Cato?" I say, my own voice taking on a note of anger.

"You should have said something the moment you saw her," he spits.

He looks angrier than before, and I force myself to put more distance between us.

Even if I wanted to attack her, I couldn't have. I was too frozen. But I don't think that reasoning will help me now. "It wouldn't have made a difference," I argue. "She would have been gone before you had the chance to do anything."

He chuckles darkly. "You think that I wouldn't have caught her? That if I had seen her like you did, that I wouldn't have killed her?" he asks, his voice low and threatening.

The answer is no. There is no doubt in my mind that he would have caught her and that she would be dead right now.

"Whose side are you on?"

And that is the root of problem. No matter how the situation played out, I wouldn't have killed her. And he knows that.

"What? No response?" he growls. "You'll have no one to blame but yourself when this comes to back bite you. You don't get to decide who dies and who doesn't."

"And you do?"

"We've been over this. If you want to live, she can't. She's not your ally anymore. If they aren't your ally, they have to die. You didn't seem to have such a problem with that at the Cornucopia," he says, his eyes traveling over me. They land back on my face and he sends me a dangerous look. "Who does it belong to?"

It's the first reference anyone has made to the blood that has stained my clothing. My blood simmers at the question. He isn't asking out of morbid curiosity like Karn had. He's asking to make a point, and I feel sick because I can't deny that he's right. I killed Ivory without a second thought, just like he would have killed Zeppina.

The silence hangs in the air a moment before he continues. "Don't let it happen again."

I swallow and force myself to say, "It won't."

"It better not. That wouldn't end well for anyone."

The threat is vague, but somehow it cuts deeper than any look or comment he's sent my way. It's not difficult to understand that he means he'll kill me if he has any other reason to doubt my loyalty. The frustration burns beneath my skin because it's so incredibly hypocritical. He has no reason to fear me and he knows it—the only one in danger of dying is me. I'm the only one who has reason to question loyalty or intentions.

The thought makes my stomach sink. We've done nothing but argue since entering the arena. There's no question over our relationship: we hate each other and everyone in all of Panem knows it. If I were a sponsor, I wouldn't support us. Instead, I'd be waiting for us to tear each other to pieces—actually, I'd be waiting for _him_ to tear _me_ to pieces. The knots in my stomach return full force, and I know that I need to get some space.

"I'm going to set up the snares," I say, already walking away from the area. Cato grunts but makes no other move to reply.

The arena is quiet with the exception of the squawking birds as I walk through the brush, but I make sure not to go too far. What seems to pass for nighttime here isn't completely pitch black, but it's dark enough to limit my eyesight. It's easy enough to make the snare though.

I only have to stop once when I feel something cut across my cheek. I reach my hand up to feel the warm liquid on the side of my face, a frown taking over when I look at the source. It's a small leaf from the tree above me. I look up towards the sky, my frown deepening at the sight. The leaves continue to fall slowly, but they all drift down, causing me no further harm. It's strange that the trees are molting, considering how lively the arena looked when we arrived this morning, but Effie's voice rings in my head, reminding me that this is Quarter Quell. Who knows what they have in store.

Shaking my head, I push the information to the back of my mind and head back to my angry partner.

When I get back to camp I see that Mace and Nerissa have returned. They couldn't have been gone for more than an hour. Unfortunately, they appear empty-handed.

Nerissa huffs from her spot beside Cato. "We didn't see anything. The whole place looks dry."

"There has to be water somewhere."

"Yeah, the Cornucopia," Mace replies.

"No, it has to be somewhere else too," Cato says with a shake of his head. "There's no way to get down there. It has to be more accessible, otherwise everyone will become dehydrated."

My irritation hasn't faded, but I'm glad to hear that they're thinking so seriously about our lack of water. It's going to become a real problem soon.

Nerissa huffs again and says, "Well, I'm tired, so can we worry about this in the morning?"

You'd think that being from District Four, she'd be a little more knowledgeable when it comes to water, but apparently that's wrong. I can't really argue with her though. I can feel the exhaustion creeping up on me.

"Fine. We'll settle for the night and keep looking in the morning," Cato says. "I'll take first watch." Nobody argues. The remaining three of us lay down as Cato settles against a tree.

"What happened to your face?"

I turn to see Cato staring at me expectantly. My hand drifts up to the cut on my cheek. The blood has already dried.

"Nothing," I tell him. "It was just a branch."

Silence falls around us and I know that his questioning is over, which is good because I'm both mentally and physically drained. I pull a knife from my vest and lay back, praying that sleep comes quickly. I'm in no such luck. Minutes, maybe hours, tick by and I'm no closer to sleep. My muscles remain tense and my mind refuses to calm down.

I realize that I took it for granted—how easily sleep came in the first arena. The trust I felt with Barden, even the minimal trust I felt with Zeppina, provided me with so much more comfort than I dared to acknowledge. But lying here, with three of the most deadly tributes in the arena—all three of which have probably fantasized about killing me in the last few hours—I can admit that I let myself get too comfortable before. I won't make the same mistake this time. Not that I could even if I wanted to. I can't sleep for more than a few minutes now. Not with him around. Not with any of them around. Even though my body aches with tiredness, I can't force myself to remain asleep. And I don't want to. Instead, I toss and turn, trying to feign sleep. It doesn't work.

I hear Cato grunt from somewhere to my right. I can almost hear him rolling his eyes.

"What's up with you, Twelve?"

We both know the answer, but instead I say, "Nothing, I'm just not tired."

"Stop lying. Just go to sleep. It's not like I'm going to ki—"

I suck in a sharp breath and he falls silent. I'm frozen where I lay. He speaks again and all the air rushes from my lungs. "Just go to sleep."

Whether he didn't finish the sentence because he thought it was in poor taste or because he didn't think he could keep such a promise, I'll never know. I hope I never have to find out. So I don't reply. I just curl in further on myself, the grip on my knife tightening.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Wow... lots of tension. Is anyone even a little surprised?**

 **Misssyl: So glad you like the OC's! In a fandom such as this, it can be difficult to be original, but I'm glad it's worked out so far lol. Will there be any romance? You'll have to wait and see. Keep in mind, I've already outlined a sequel so...**

 **CranberryTruffle: Leverage, she does have. Cato and Briar certainly have an interesting relationship, but I think they've got a lot of issues to work through, if the end of this chapter didn't already make that clear.**

 **lovewords: Phew, I was pretty nervous about this arena, cause as I mentioned before, it's pretty difficult to be original in this fandom. There are many other things in store for this arena though, so look out. Mace and Nerissa definitely have their issues, but its a lot of fun writing such mean characters lol**

 **GreenOnBlack: She certainly feels good about having an advantage now, but with the Games, who knows how long it will last...**

 **SecretsWithSouls00: Yay for suspense and confusion. It's always hard as a writer to tell if you're pulling it off because you obviously already know what's coming next.**

 **FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: If only they would all eat the berries and leave poor Briar alone. Alas, that's not how Careers work. P.S. have you taken the patronus quiz on Pottermore?**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Briar is becoming quite the sass-master.**

 **WhiteEevee: Cato can talk sense every once in a while. It's a shame its so rare. I'm sure Briar feels the same about Ivory, but there's no time to think about it. "Scum bucket" careers...I love it.**

 **There's more conflict to come, don't worry. So stick around!**


	20. Chapter 19: Trials and Tribulations

**Chapter 19: Trials and Tribulations**

I wake up to someone jostling my shoulder. Looking up blurrily, I realize that it's Nerissa.

"Get up, Twelve. Time to go."

The urgency in her voice draws any remnants of sleep from my body. I'm on my feet in a second, frantically looking for danger. I come up with nothing. Mace and Cato stand off to the side looking up to the sky, their shoulders tense and their jaws clenched to the point of looking painful. There's a cut above Cato's eyebrow that matches the one on my cheek, and it's clear to me what the source is. Confusion tugs at me as I watch the leaves fall to the ground.

"Check the snare," Cato commands.

I don't have to be told twice. I practically run to it. There's an animal hanging from the snare, but I move too quickly to register anything other than the fact that I don't immediately recognize it. The wind blows harshly, and I feel a stinging sensation across my face. Frowning, I pick the offending object up, wincing slightly when it cuts across my finger. The edges of the leaf are toothy and sharp, serrated like the knives I've used so often. I toss it away and grab for the animal. I register a brief feeling of disgust as I stuff it into the pack with the wire for the snare, but it passes and I don't spare the animal another thought before taking off again.

Everyone is in the same spot I left them, collecting their weapons and looking ready to bolt. The leaves fall rapidly now, the trees almost completely bare. The temperature has dropped considerably since yesterday and the sky has taken on a gray color, the sun nowhere in sight. I don't know what to make of it except for the fact that it is no doubt a design of the Gamemakers. I wish I knew more about this climate, because something tells me that this is only going to get worse.

"What the hell is happening?" Mace asks as the wind begins to blow once again.

I bite my lip to keep from wincing when I feel another leaf slice across my face.

Cato turns to me and asks, "Is that what happened to your face last night?"

I send him a nod. "It's the leaves. They've been modified. The edges are like razors."

The wind picks up.

Nerissa says, "We should find safer ground."

The Gamemakers chose that moment to blow a particularly harsh wind, and we all move to shield ourselves from the onslaught. I can feel them slice across my hands. I'm not confused anymore, just afraid. What else is wrong with these leaves? Poison, maybe? Either way I don't intend to stick around and find out.

A few moments later, the wind dies down. I squint up at the treetops. There seems to be a whole new layer of razor sharp leaves just waiting for the wind to blow them loose. It's like they're being produced out of thin air. _No, not thin air,_ I tell myself. They're being produced by the Capitol, by the Gamemakers.

"Why don't we just head back to the Cornucopia?" Nerissa asks. "They're aren't any trees there."

Cato shakes his head "There's no point in heading back to the Cornucopia. There's nothing there. We'll keep heading west."

He's probably right. There was nothing but a weapons rack and some backpacks there. Besides, who knows what they have planned for tributes that try to take shelter there. All it takes is a little push and you're dead at the bottom of the canyon.

"Fine," she replies just as the wind picks up again. "Let's just get out of here."

None of us speaks much after that. I try my best to block the razor-like leaves, but I feel them against my skin nonetheless. The cut itself hurts no more than a paper cut, but I know they cover my hands. Open wounds are never a good thing in the Games, no matter how small they are. I really don't want to get another infection.

We're walking for no more than a half an hour before the wind takes on new power. I stagger to the side, the force of it practically blowing me over. My alliance doesn't seem to be faring much better. My eyes sting and begin to water as the wind dries them out. Between that and the leaves swirling throughout the air, it's difficult to see more than ten feet in front of me. The nerve endings in my body come to life, but I force myself to remain calm. Or at least I try to. It's hard though because this is the perfect setup for an attack. Distractions, low visibility… it could all mean something very bad. Uncertainty tugs at me, but I keep pushing forward. Danger or no, standing still is never a good idea.

"I think I see a clearing up ahead!" Mace yells.

I look to where he's pointing, but it's useless. I can't see anything. But Cato must, because he takes off in that direction. I follow without hesitation. I may not trust him, but he wouldn't walk into a situation if he thought it was a trap. And if it is… well, the three of them will walk into the clearing before me, so whatever it is will get them first.

We all stumble our way over there. I smell it before I see it. It's putrid, like sewage mixed with sweat. I gag on the scent.

"What the _hell_ is that smell?" Nerissa coughs out as the wind dies down.

No one answers her as we stumble forward. We're there in a matter of seconds, breaking through the tree line and finally free of the sharp leaves. I take in the sight before me. There's a small waterfall that drops into murky green water. There are trees that curve and bend over the area, some even emerging from within the water's cloudy depths, but they appear to have shed all of their leaves already. The swamp isn't too big, maybe fifty yards in diameter, but it flows into a narrow river. The water looks like it travels into nothing but the gray sky. I can tell it's a cliff, though, because those large white birds squawk and swoop down every few seconds. I don't want to know what lurks over the edge.

Mace strides past me, getting a better look at the area. "Well at least there's water."

Nerissa scoffs. "I'm not drinking this stuff. Do you smell that? It's disgusting."

Mace just shrugs in response. As much as I hate to admit it, Nerissa is probably right. Even if the smell isn't indicative of anything, I can't believe that this water is drinkable. It's dirty and no doubt infested with something dangerous. And besides that, it's too easy. More than anything, it's the accessibility that tells me that it's not safe to drink. Nerissa's backpack has a water bottle, but no iodine pills. Easy accessibility, desperation, and a lack of resources are not a good mix.

There's a loud buzzing in my ears as I take a few steps closer to the water. Bugs. Tiny gnats and large flies that swarm all around the water. I immediately take a step back, but my team members only wander further.

"Don't get too close to the water," I say. All three turn to look at me, equally confused and suspicious looks on their faces. "We have too many cuts. Insects and open wounds aren't a good combination."

I regret the words when they leave my mouth. If they're going to keep doing stuff to get themselves killed, I really shouldn't stop them.

They take a step back, apparently convinced by my comment.

"What do we do now? We need water and there is no way I'm drinking that stuff," Nerissa says, pointing a finger at the swamp with a look of disgust on her face. "We need to make a plan."

I'm impressed by her for a moment. She seems to be thinking ahead for once. Only mildly, though. I can only be so impressed by someone who wants me dead.

I try to ignore the sound of the flies buzzing and the birds squawking as we attempt to form some type of plan. They all look miserable at the prospect. I'm sure it's because Careers aren't used to this kind of thing. The only thing they need to worry about is finding other tributes. Everything else is practically handed to them.

"Hey, birdy. Can you get us some food while we do this? I'm starting to get hungry."

I send Mace a blank look, but I make no comment to indicate that I want to do otherwise. None of us have eaten since last night and I can feel my stomach rumble uncomfortably. I drop the backpack to the ground and pull the dead animal from within it. I can't fight the smirk that appears at the disgusted look on their faces. It's putrid, the scent of dead animal mixing with the pungent smell of the swamp.

"That looks… awful," Nerissa says in a low voice.

I shrug. "Food is food." It's not like we have a choice anyway. All the plants around us are dead.

They all look skeptical for a moment before Cato nods and says, "Somebody start a fire," and begins walking away to do whatever it is he does. I almost comment on the risk, but I stop myself. It's not like they're afraid of drawing the attention of other tributes.

"I'll take a look around the area," Mace says. "See if there's any other usable water."

"I'll get stuff for the fire. Anything to get me away from this disgusting smell," Nerissa says. I'm glad to be staying by the swamp. Hopefully the smell will repel other tributes.

I take that as my hint to get started on skinning the rodent-like animal. I take a good look at it, my face scrunching up at the sight. It's about two feet long, with small, beady eyes, and a long, pointed snout. I sit back against a tree with the animal beside me as I inspect the knives in my vest. There are a few different kinds, thankfully none of them heavy. I pull one out that most closely resembles the ones I used back in Twelve and begin my work. The task is mindless and I can't help but be equally happy and unhappy about it. On one hand, it's nice to focus on something I'm good at, something that I don't have to question. On the other, it's distracting and it leaves me to nothing but my thoughts. My mind can't help but wander to the three members of my alliance, conjuring all types of disturbing scenarios leading to my death. I inwardly cringe and force myself to think about something else. That's not any better though because all I can think of are the people that I miss back in district Twelve.

I wonder what they're up to—Mabel and Mr. Fairbain. They're probably working. Even with the Games, no one in Twelve can afford to take the day off. Instead, they just play in the background, always lingering despite how much we wish they would just go away. I can't help but hope Mr. Fairbain is doing okay without me. Not that I'm irreplaceable or anything, but he's not a big fan of change, and so I doubt he's taken on anyone new since I left. I don't let my mind wander any farther than that, but thinking about them reminds me that I'm being watched right now.

Maybe I'm not on camera or maybe I am, but either way, someone in Panem knows what's going on. It makes me wonder if the mentors can see what's happening with their tributes at all times. Do they get to see every camera angle? Probably not, I decide. They only get to see what's deemed important by the Gamemakers. Still, unless there's action somewhere else, I find it hard to believe we aren't on camera right now. Three Capitol favorites are teamed up, and the sponsors and citizens are going to want to know every little thing that happens with them. _Wouldn't want to risk their money on an unsafe bet, now would they?_ I really hope my mentors are paying attention, because with the way things are going, I might need their help sooner rather than later. I shake my head and focus on my task.

Nerissa comes striding back through the trees carrying a few twigs and branches in her arms. She drops them on the ground without ceremony, turning her gaze to the animal in my hands.

"That is repulsive," she says before dropping to the ground a few feet away.

I shrug but don't answer as I cut through the diaphragm and up the throat. I feel eyes on me and I glance in her direction. It's not her eyes I meet though. Cato is watching me with a look of concentration that's quickly overcome by one of disgust when I begin to pull out the intestines.

"Are you going to light the fire, Twelve?" Nerissa asks.

I tear my gaze away from Cato and stare at her.

"You're the survival girl," Mace's voice sounds in my ear. I jump slightly and I can see his smirk when he walks into view.

I guess Haymitch really wasn't exaggerating when he said that Careers don't know _any_ survival skills.

I narrow my eyes at the pair. "I would, but I'm a little busy at the moment." I punctuate the statement by pulling out another organ and dropping it onto the intestines.

All three faces scrunch up in a look of distaste, and I'm far too pleased to hide the smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"Besides," I say, "there should be some matches in the backpack. I'm sure you guys can handle that."

I don't mean to say the last part, but it just slips out. Nerissa growls, looking ready to tear into me. Mace, however, begins to laugh, and it manages to swipe the smile from my face.

"Oh, I do love it when you get all feisty like this," he purrs.

I practically gag and it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm in the middle of removing organs from a dead animal. He grabs the backpack, holding a triumphant hand in the air when he finds the matches and starts the fire without any trouble.

"How much longer?" Cato asks.

I let my gaze drift back to the boy from Two and say, "A few more minutes."

He makes no move to reply, instead opting to stick his sword into the flame. I raise an eyebrow but don't question him. It's probably some weird Career thing.

We all sit in tense silence—or at least I'm tense—as I finish what I'm doing. The next hour or so passes quickly despite my nerves. Whatever the animal is, it tastes pretty good and it's satisfying to my empty stomach. The Careers seem to be enjoying it enough, so I tick it off as another check in my column. It makes me wonder what they would have done without me—how they would get food. Maybe I should have run away, because it doesn't seem to me like they would make it that long without someone with some survival skills. _That would have been nice._

Mace is the first to break the silence. "So what's the plan?"

"I'm fine with anything that gets us away from this place," Nerissa responds. "I can't breathe without feeling like I'm going to vomit."

"There might be something useful here." They look at me quizzically. "I mean, there's a reason it smells so bad," I elaborate. "It's not necessarily dangerous. It repels people…so maybe there's something here that's worth getting but no one bothers to come because it's so gross." The look doesn't vanish from their faces. I shrug. "Just a thought."

There's the sound of birds over the silence around us.

"Right," Nerissa says, sounding unconvinced. "Anyway…"

I roll my eyes at her dismissal but don't say anything.

"You and birdy can look for water while Nerissa and I look for some of the others," Mace suggests.

Cato doesn't look happy with the prospect. It's a double blow, I'm sure—having to be near me _and_ missing the Hunt. Tragic, really. He moves to speak, but a chorus of birds cuts him off.

Nerissa huffs and throws her stick to the ground. "Will those damn birds shut up?"

I follow her glare to see the white birds swooping up and over the cliff. I stare at them for a long time—the occasional one coming up with a fish and depositing it in a nest that rests on a tree branch. They're easy to make out since the trees have shed all of their leaves. My eyebrows knit together as I watch them dive in and out before returning to their nests, lowering their heads to drop something and then taking off again. Half the time it doesn't look like they have anything, and so I continue to stare in confusion as they do it time and time again. Something tugs at me, but I can't quite place it. What are they doing?... It dawns on me suddenly and I—

"Are you _ever_ paying attention, Twelve?" Cato asks from across from me.

I don't pay any mind to the anger in his tone. I blink at him slowly and say, "I know how to get water," before I'm on my feet and making my way to the edge of the cliff. I jog over, the relief fueling me with energy. I hear them move to action behind me, the three of them following through the trees.

"What are you talking about?" Mace asks.

I don't turn around or stop jogging. "Water. I know where to find it."

Cato grunts. "I think we got that part."

 _Obviously not._

I pull to a stop at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the water below. It laps against the rocks and the birds continue to dive in and out.

"Look. There," I say, pointing to one of them as it dips into the blue liquid and flies back to its nest. Nerissa looks somewhat confused, but both Cato and Mace look thoughtful.

Nerissa raises an eyebrow. "What does that prove?"

"You don't see it?" I ask, unable to keep the relieved smile off my face despite her confusion. I don't wait for them to answer. I'm eager to ease the ache in my throat.

"Their beaks," Mace supplies, and I nod, glad that someone understands, even if it is Mace.

"That sounds ridiculous," Nerissa says.

"Who cares how ridiculous it is if it gets us water."

"Wait a second," Nerissa says. "How do we know that you're even right about this?"

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Even she isn't going to ruin my good mood. "Why don't we just check then?"

"Fine," she answers. "Climb the tree then and let's see." She points to a nest sitting only about twenty feet above the ground.

I inwardly cringe, cursing Katniss for her tree climbing abilities. I have no choice but to be honest.

"I don't really climb trees," I say, my voice somewhat surly.

"You're from district Twelve," she states, as if that fact is enough to grant me this skill.

"That doesn't mean that I know how to climb."

"What else is there to do there?" Mace asks mockingly.

I roll my eyes. It's like he's completely forgotten that I just spent half an hour cleaning and butchering an animal.

"Oh, that's right. Most butchers do their work from the highest branch of the tallest tree in their district. The skills are practically synonymous. How could I have forgotten?" I ask sarcastically. I've done a pretty good job of ignoring him this far, but there's only so much mocking I can take. I snap my mouth shut, though, angry at myself for letting them frustrate me.

Mace's face instantly blossoms into a smirk and I know that he got the reaction he wanted. He turns to Cato and says, "Isn't she fun when she gets all riled up?"

Cato states at him blankly for a moment before pushing forward. "I'll do it myself," he says gruffly.

The three of us stand there silently as he makes his way towards and then up the tree. He moves easily enough, which is surprising considering how large he is. Maybe they teach this in the Career Academy.

I wait with bated breath when he reaches the nest and looks inside. He peers down at us from where he's perched and says the two words that pull a breath of relief from my lungs.

"There's water."

He grabs the nest and moves carefully, but quickly down the tree, passing it off to Mace when he is low enough. The nest is bigger than I thought—almost two feet in diameter. It must be a muttation of some sort, because not a single one of us recognizes the bird. I don't really care what it is though—as long as it doesn't try to kill me. But I don't really give it much thought because I can't focus on anything other than how my mouth feels like it's made of cotton.

"How do we know it's safe to drink?" Mace asks.

Based on the look in his eye, I don't think whether or not it's safe will stop him from drinking it. If it's not, I hope I'm right and he tries to gulp the whole thing down.

I purse my lips, trying to recall what I learned in the training center. Something about sand…

"Give me a minute," I say as I turn and walk to the edge of the water that runs over the cliff. I pick up a handful of the sandy earth before walking back and dropping it into the nest.

"What are you doing?" Nerissa screeches.

I raise an eyebrow at her outburst. I don't take my eyes off the water. "If the sand floats, it's too contaminated to drink. If it sinks…" I say slowly as I watch the tiny pieces drift to the bottom," then it's safe," I finish with a smirk.

She still looks skeptical. "You drink first," she demands.

I'm only too eager to comply. I scoop some into my hands and drink it, the ache in my throat slightly dissipating as the cool liquid slides down. They all seem to be convinced of its drinkability when I don't suddenly drop dead, moving quickly to drink some down as well. The words 'you're welcome' sit at the tip of my tongue, but I refrain from speaking them. They won't do me any good and my mouth is too busy trying to gulp down water anyway.

Once we're finished, we fill the water bottle and then we—and by we I mean the three Careers—decide that it's best to keep moving. We haven't gotten much sleep since entering the arena, and I don't know if Cato's shift even ended before we moved. I'd bet that they're trained to function on little amounts of sleep. I'm reinvigorated by both the food and the water though, so I don't mind much. I ignore the part of my brain that reminds me that moving really means hunting for other tributes. I'm getting pretty good at that—ignoring things I hate.

The temperature remains cool as we move. It's almost nice if I ignore the fact that I could die at any moment. The sky is still gray, so there's no hot sun to burn our skin, and there's a breeze to keep off the heat generated from moving across the uneven surface. It's even better now that there aren't sharp leaves falling from the sky. I glance down at the cuts on my hands, frowning when I realize that many of them haven't closed. Confusion and fear gnaw at me, but I push it to the back of my mind when Cato speaks from behind me.

"How did you know where the water was?"

I throw a glance over my shoulder. He's surveying the area instead of looking at me, but I know he's paying close attention to whatever my answer is.

"I was just paying attention," I say. "They were at the Cornucopia too—the birds, I mean. I saw them before the Bloodbath. And since that's the only other source of water we've seen… I don't know, it just made sense. They kept going to the water but didn't have any food," I finish with a shrug even though he's not looking at me.

"And the thing about the sand?"

"Training center," I tell him. "There was a station on sanitizing," I add, because I doubt he remembers it considering it didn't involve stabbing anything.

He makes a humming sound under his breath, but doesn't comment further. I want to turn around and see the look on his face, but I don't. He keeps doing this—asking me these small questions and then cutting the conversation off before it actually starts. It's not like I mind. I'm not exactly eager to talk to him, but I still find it strange. I hate feeling like he's testing me somehow, trying to gage something from me. But I guess as long as he's not trying to kill me, I don't care much about his questions.

We trudge for what feel likes hours, but it's hard to tell in the arena, especially because the sun hasn't made an appearance all day. And with the exception of the wind continuing to pick up speed and the dull light of sky finally beginning to fade, nothing has happened. We haven't seen a single other tribute—for which I'm grateful—and there have been no cannons—for which I'm not. The pit of uneasiness has made a permanent home in my stomach, so that hasn't changed either. I am hungry though, so that's different. The slump of both Mace and Nerissa's shoulders is evident, and although I'm sure they're disappointed that we haven't see any other tributes to kill, I decide to attribute it to what little sleep we all got last night. It makes me wonder how Cato is still on his feet, because I'm still convinced that his shift never ended. He seems to be having similar thoughts to mine, because I hear him call out from behind me.

"We should stop and make camp."

Relief is the only thing I feel at the comment. The exhaustion has long begun to creep up on me, making my limbs feel heavy and my brain decidedly less sharp. There's no reason that exhaustion should be a factor when there's four of us.

"I'll set the snare and grab some berries or something," I say, walking away before anyone has the chance to stop me. I'm sure they're hungry too, so I don't expect anyone to protest anyway.

By the time I return, they're all on the ground, sitting in silence. Someone's already started a fire, which I don't much see the point of. There are no animals to cook, and it will just draw attention, but I figure that's the point. Pursing my lips, I move around the area to hand out what little I've collected thanks to the decision to kill all the plants.

Mace sends me a leer, his hand drawing along mine for much longer than necessary, and a chill runs down my spine. I think he notices, because a smirk blossoms on his face, but then he's turning to Nerissa and whispering in her ear. I see her roll her eyes in annoyance when he leans closer. She's obviously not a fan of his flirting. I can't help but think they'd make a great couple. Better to make two people miserable than four.

When I make my way over to Cato, he has a tense look on his face, barely noticing my presence. I follow his line of sight to Mace, and I can't help but wonder what's got him so tense. Maybe something happened while I was gone. But I've started to get the impression that he doesn't like Mace much. Probably because he threatens him as the alpha male or whatever.

I stick out my hand out towards him. "Cato." Nothing. "Cato," I say again, a little louder as I wave my hand in front of his face to get his attention.

He trains his gaze on me, none of the tension disappearing. "What?"

I roll my eyes at his rude tone. "Food."

He takes it from my hand without another word. I can't help but think how easy it would be to poison him. He didn't even look at it before putting it in his mouth, opting instead to stare at the fire. I shake my head and walk away. I just hope whatever is bothering him doesn't become my problem too.

I see Mace lean a little too close to Nerissa from across the fire. She leans back slightly, looking ready to speak but Cato beats her too it, addressing the boy from One.

"What are Topaz's strengths and weaknesses?" he asks.

The question itself isn't unexpected, but I raise an eyebrow at his hard tone. For a fleeting second, I think that Cato's sudden tenseness is because of jealousy. He was staring at Mace flirt, albeit weakly and disturbingly, with Nerissa just moments before. But then I remember that he's had spectacularly good timing when it comes to Mace's games and unwanted advances. Maybe there are some things even Careers don't stand by. Whatever it is, I don't let myself dwell on it too long. Cato's still a horrible person, just maybe a slightly less horrible one than before.

Mace sits up straighter at the interruption, but doesn't look the least put out. He answers the question thoroughly, and I feel disgusted by how easy it is for him to betray someone from his own district. Are they okay with this in One? _Probably_ , I think. Careers win almost every year and so it's inevitable that some showdowns have been from people of the same district. Still, it's repulsive.

Not that I can talk. I killed Karn. _In self-defense,_ I remind myself. It doesn't help much, so I don't let myself think about if my district is okay with it.

We spend a couple minutes like that—or at least they do—talking about the other Careers and figuring how to best handle them while we eat. It's incredibly unsettling, and I'm glad I have no part in it. I do listen though, storing all the little pieces away. Like how Topaz is weak on her left side, or how Murrow is deadly with traps but weaker when it comes to hand to hand combat.

"What about you, Twelve?" Mace asks.

I swallow down the fruit I'm eating, a look of confusion no doubt covering my features. "What about me?"

"Got any information to share?"

"There's no one else from her district left, Mace," Nerissa chimes in. I'm glad I'm not the one who has to say the words, even if her tone sounds somewhat amused by the idea.

"Yeah, but you had an ally in the last arena. The girl from Six," he says. "What's her deal?"

I don't know what to say for a second. It's not like I owe Zeppina anything, but the words are caught in my throat for the same reason I didn't tell Cato that she was there last night. I definitely don't let myself look to see how Cato reacts to the question because I have little doubt that he's still angry. I don't care about protecting her, but I can't make myself do something that feels so close to betrayal. What is wrong with me?

"Well…?" I hear him say after a moment.

I decide that I don't want to give either of them any valuable information, so I keep my answer short. "I don't know. She's smart, pretty good at survival stuff. She didn't use a weapon in last arena, so I don't know what she's good with."

I realize when I finish that it's all true—especially the part about not knowing. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't give much more information than that. She's played her part well, I guess.

Mace opens his mouth to speak, but a cannon booms and we all fall silent. Ten more, I remind myself. Only ten more and I'm out of this hellhole.

"I'll take first watch," I say, breaking the quiet. Surprisingly, no one protests the idea of me being on guard, obviously too tired to give it much thought.

I'm exhausted, but I know that I can't sleep right now. Last night comes rushing back to me, and my stomach clenches uncomfortably. I stamp the fire out and then grab a knife and settle against a rock. All three of them are asleep within minutes, and I once again think about how easy it would be to kill them. It would be so easy to do to Cato what Demetrius did to Amelia. It'd be sure to cause a stir throughout the Capitol—the reversal of roles. Maybe it would even gain me some favor. But even as the thoughts swirl around my head, I know I won't do it.

Haymitch is probably disappointed. So am I. I twirl Amelia's bracelet around my wrist, hating the feeling of anger that it stirs in me. Even more so, I hate that the only reason I haven't killed them is because of her, not me. I don't like having thoughts like this, let alone knowing that if it weren't for her, I would probably carry them out. But then again, if it weren't for her, I wouldn't want Cato dead anyway, so I guess it doesn't really matter.

The wind blows harshly, and I pull my jacket tighter around myself. I don't know how much time passes, but it must be late because the anthem begins to play. None of the Careers wake up, so it's just me watching the faces of the Fallen. There is a boy from Six— the one that Mace killed—and a girl from Two. Hera, I think her name was. That's all the deaths for today and everything fades back into silence. I don't let myself think about the boy from Six, but I don't stop the relief at Hera's death. The less Careers, the better.

Exhaustion curls at the edges of my vision, but I force myself to remain awake. I try to find something to distract myself with. In the end, I decide to practice throwing my knife. At least that will keep me busy. I never throw it more than a couple of feet in front of me. Instead I just focus on going through the motions Cato showed me in the training center.

I pull my hand back, frowning at it, or more specifically the cuts that cover it. They remain open, a strange blue liquid seeping out. I inspect it closer, but I don't know what it means. My hands and the cuts on my face feel perfectly normal, and there's nothing indicative about the liquid except for the color. But that doesn't stop the coil of nervousness from tightening in my stomach. I knew there was something else about those leaves. I shake my head, knowing that the worry is going to keep me up. Still, I have to at least try to get some sleep or I'll be completely useless tomorrow. I could wake Mace up, but I don't want to be alone with him, so I walk over to Nerissa.

And that's when I see them. Tiny white bugs emerging from the ground, swarming over the open wounds. Maggots. I whip my head around, and it confirms my thoughts. They're everywhere.

"Get up!" My voice echoes sharply through the night air.

It's amazing how quickly all three jump to their feet, weapons at the ready. It takes them even less time to figure out why I've woken them. There's a chorus of "what the hell" and yelps as they frantically try to get the bugs off.

"Give me your knife," Cato bites out, indicating to the one in my hand.

I hesitate, but then pass it over. My eyes widen as he sticks it into his skin. When he removes it, a maggot drops to the ground and he repeats the motion again and again. It takes a second for my mind to comprehend that they've begun to burrow themselves into the cuts. I'm extremely grateful that I took first watch and wasn't lying on the ground with them.

It takes them a few minutes to clear all the bugs from their skin, each of them passing the knife around to get the ones that tried to burrow beneath it. My face is scrunched as I watch the scene, and theirs are no different.

"Seriously," Nerissa grits out. "What the hell was that?"

I don't think she means it literally, but that's how I answer. "Maggots."

She pushes the handle of the knife back into my hand and narrows her eyes. "Yes, I know _that_. Why were they all over us?"

I purse my lips and glance down at my own hands, seeping blue liquid. "I think the leaves were coated in some kind of poison. Maggots are usually only attracted to large wounds or dead tissue and these are neither." I say, bringing my hand closer to my face. The scent of rotting flesh—like something from back home—oozes out. "Whatever's coming out of the cuts probably attracts them."

Nerissa's nose scrunches, the corners of her mouth tugging down. "What exactly were they going to do?"

My own face scrunches in disgust. My mind conjures up memories of finding rancid meat in the shop, maggots coating the rotting flesh. "They burrow into the wound and eat the dead tissue. Usually, at least. They can infest living tissue too. We see it in animals sometimes," I add.

"What happens then?" Mace asks. He doesn't really sound like he wants the answer though.

"They, uh," I pause, trying to think of the right way to phrase it. "They feed off the tissue and grow. Eventually they lay eggs, and those hatch, and well, I think you get the picture."

"Spectacular," he replies. "So what exactly does that mean?"

I shrug because I don't really know. "I guess it's not safe to sleep on the ground when the cuts are open."

"What are we supposed to do then?" Nerissa asks. "Sleep in the trees?"

She means it sarcastically, but I just shrug again. "Maybe, or on rocks. I don't really want to find out what happens if one of these mutts actually makes it under the skin. Do you?"

She doesn't respond, thankfully.

"You could even try sleeping sitting up. I wasn't attacked by anything," I add after a moment, because, really, it's a much simpler answer than trying to climb one of these trees. Who knows what'll happen if we try that. They'd probably start collapsing in the middle of the night or something.

"Whatever," Cato says, finally speaking up. "Let's just go back to sleep. Whoever is on watch will keep an eye out."

We all agree and settle back down. Nerissa takes watch, and I try to let the exhaustion wash over me. I barely get any sleep.

* * *

We have no more problems with the maggots during the night, and the next two days are relatively uneventful. We eat, we walk, we hunt. It's one giant loop. But we don't find anybody, and nobody finds us. I haven't slept in days, and I feel dead on my feet. It's an annoying contrast—the tiredness in my limbs but their refusal to be anything but tense every second of the day. As the days drag on, the tension only gets worse. Sure, things have happened—the leaves, the maggots… but only two people have died since the Bloodbath. I can see the beginning of tension in the shoulders of my alliance. They might be tense out of boredom like the Capitol people, but I know that they realize this too. They know that something needs to happen soon.

The only notable difference, and one that I don't take lightly, is the weather. The grayness of the sky has faded somewhat, but the days remain windy. Both the heat and the vegetation have returned, but it's a different type of heat this time. It's like the heat at home: the type that makes you feel like you're swimming rather than walking, like the air itself is enough to suffocate you. The unpredictable weather pattern reminds me too much of the first arena, and the coil of fear in my stomach winds itself even tighter.

I feel a weight on my lower back, and my jaw clenches, my pace picking up to let the hand slip away. I look down, eyeing the drop off of the incline we walk along. I don't even flinch at the thought of pushing Mace down it. His behavior hasn't changed, but I do notice that he treats Nerissa similarly, though slightly less mocking. I never thought of myself as a hateful person—Snow, Demetrius, and Cato as exceptions of course—but I'm beginning to find that it's a constant presence in my emotional state. There's no question that Mace, or any of them deserve it, but I don't like that I'm starting to wonder if this is a part of me I didn't know existed before, or if it's something the Games have created. Either way, it makes me bitter.

"Relax, birdy. I just have a question for you," Mace says as his hand falls away.

I only raise an eyebrow in reply. I find it's better if I keep our interactions to the minimum.

"I'm getting kind of thirsty."

"That's not a question," I say, even though I know exactly what he's going to say next.

"Where are the birds?"

We haven't seen any more nests since we left the swamp, and I've come to the conclusion that I was right about it being important. The smell is probably to keep people away so that they don't get water. But I know that there must be more, otherwise people would begin dropping dead from dehydration at this point.

I shake my head, seeing that the question has drawn the attention of both Nerissa and Cato.

"I don't know," I say, squinting up at the treetops. It's impossible to see anything through the leaves though. "I think… I think they're back by the swamp. We're probably too far away from the water."

"Perfect," Cato grumbles as he wipes at the sweat accumulating on his forehead.

I have the urge to wipe my own. I can feel sweat dripping down every part of me. The only bright side is the harsh wind that's only getting worse as the day goes on. But even that's not much of a solace. It's almost painfully strong at this point.

"Let's just keep moving," he continues. "We aren't going to find anything standing here."

I sigh, but don't argue. I'm tired, but he's right. There's nothing else to do but keep moving.

We only make it about twenty feet before a loud _clap_ resounds through the air, pulling us to a stop.

"Ugh, what now?" Nerissa groans.

She takes the words right out of my mouth.

 _Crack._

The sound of the birds dies out, replaced by a loud rumbling.

Cato is the first to answer her question. "Thunder."

The sky cracks again, echoing across the arena. A few seconds tick by, and then the sky opens. The water beats harshly on my skin, picking up momentum as it falls. The wind pushes against me, nearly knocking me to the ground. Water rushes into my eyes, my visibility nearly gone in seconds.

"We need shelter!" I shout, hoping that someone can hear me over the wind and the water pelting the earth.

"This way!"

I don't know who says it, but I follow blindly. The air crackles, and the sky lights up in a brilliant white light. I flinch back from the edge, the earth crumbling and dropping to the land below.

I faintly hear Cato's voice over the sound of my heart and the storm. "Watch where you're going, Twelve!"

I don't have to be told twice. I take another step away, but it's more like stumbling. The land squishes and slides beneath my feet, nothing more than mud in a matter of seconds. Vegetation sticks to me, but I don't feel anything but the wind and the rain. We trudge for minutes like that, the wind and rain pelting us, visibility fading with every minute.

 _Crack_. I try to speak again, but the sounds of the storm drown out my voice. There's no use in speaking now.

My foot collides with something. I'm sent tumbling forward onto my hands and knees. A large branch crashes to the ground in front of me. My heart pounds furiously against my chest. A couple more feet and… I can feel myself slipping down the edge. I crawl forward and try to scramble up. The wind nearly tips me over, but I'm on my feet and moving forward again.

It's pointless. I hear it before I see it.

 _Swoosh._ I take another slippery step. There's a repeating _snap_ and then a loud rumbling _._ I squint my eyes, but it's no use. It's not until it's right in front of me that I know what it is. It's too late by then. I take another step and the land gives out.

And then I'm moving.

There's nothing but water and mud and I can't breathe. I'm being crushed from all sides. Water fills my lungs, and suddenly I'm in the first arena again: frigid water and a hand around my neck. But I know it's not real. There is no one to break free from. There is nothing I can do but hope I don't die.

I try to reach out but there is nothing to grab. I squeeze my eyes shut and I'm completely submerged. I can no longer tell which direction is which. Dizziness fills my head. Everything is blackness and water and then for a few seconds, there is nothing.

I smash into something hard and I jolt into awareness. Suddenly there is solid ground beneath me as I'm thrown onto my side. I grip whatever is in reach and then I vomit. I hack forcefully, the contents of the flash flood spilling from my lungs. I cough violently for a few moments and then try to move. A new wave of nausea rushes over me, and I vomit some more.

Once I'm positive that all the remnants of the muddy water have been dispelled from my body, I attempt to move. My limbs are suddenly made of lead though, and my mind is just as slow, but I don't care. The relief of being alive is too great. I give up and lay panting on the ground. My heart refuses to slow its rapid pace. I feel like it's going to beat out of my chest. It's not until there's a loud _boom_ that I force myself to move.

For a moment I'm afraid it's another flood, but then I notice that the rain has stopped. Then I remember what it really is: a cannon. Someone is dead. Despite my body's protests, I push myself to my feet, my head whipping around. Cato, Mace, Nerissa—they are nowhere in sight. Were they swept up too? The cannon must have been for one of them, but who?

The sound of snapping and squishing draws me out of my thoughts. I whirl around. A figure stumbles forward.

 _Cato_.

He's caked in mud, and I can see blood dripping down his forehead. There is an odd feeling that settles in my stomach, something like relief, but my head is too foggy to analyze it.

"Twelve," he says, sounding somewhat breathless. "Put the kni…knife down. It's not going to do you any good if you…you're shaking like that."

I look down and notice that he's right. My arm, extended and shaky, holds a knife. I don't remember pulling it out.

"Are you… where ar—" I cough violently. My throat is raw. "Mace and Nerissa… the cannon."

He shakes his head. "I don't know."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Mace and Nerissa are dead? Lost? What will it be? At least poor Briar is rid of them for now.**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: She's definitely stuck between a rock and a hard place with poisoning them or not, but at least for now, all she has to deal with is Cato... not that that's much better.**

 **FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: Siberian Cat? Nice. I got a Dun Mare... Wish I knew what that actually signified though lol**

 **lovewords: It's the Games, there's always conflict lol. Mace is definitely a creep. I was always surprised that Susanne Collins never put in a creepy character who uses this as a kind of power advantage so I wanted to play around with that. And for Zeppina... hmmm, let's just say we haven't heard the last of her. Ahh, I'm so flattered, you're too sweet. People like you definitely make writing worth it.**

 **SecretsWithSouls00: Wow, that's a huge compliment. Seriously, to say you feel like you're in the arena... ahhh. XD**

 **WhiteEevee: The Careers, babies? Never... Oh Zeppina... where have you gone? What are you up to? We shall see. Yeah, Cato was relatively reasonable. Say what you want about Careers, but they at least understand basic survival, which Briar seems to be struggling with at the minute lol.**

 **See you guys next week when we see how Briar and Cato fair on their own...**


	21. Chapter 20: Fracture Lines

**Chapter 19: Fracture Lines**

We stand there silently, staring at one another. There's about a million different pains running through my body at the moment, but they're all secondary to the uncertainty I feel looking at the boy from Two. I don't know what to do, and seeing as he has yet to move either it seems like Cato is in a similar state of uncertainty.

"Should we—"

"We should—" we say at the same time. I snap my mouth shut and we both fall silent again. I'm almost thankful for the cough that racks my lungs, just because it breaks the quiet.

"We should move away from here," Cato says, his breathing becoming slightly more even. "The flood may be over, but it could still cause a mudslide."

I nod, but make no move to answer. Cato looks at me one more time before he begins walking. I try to shake the fogginess from my brain and then follow. Unsurprisingly, we trek in silence. It's definitely for the better though, because walking is difficult enough with the mud and how battered my body feels. I wonder if Cato is faring much better.

Neither of us mentions Mace and Nerissa again. Now that we're separated—and one of them is most likely dead—our alliance is over. I know that this needed to happen, that staying with them for too long would be too dangerous, but there's a new feeling of apprehension that settles in my gut. In a weird way, the two of them acted like a buffer between Cato and me. The only times we've ever been alone together were those two nights on the roof and right before entering the arena, and two of the three went very badly. Hell, almost every interaction we've had even with the others around has been bad.

There are no illusions now, no common enemy to target when things go wrong. Nope, now it's just the two of us and our _special connection._ The Capitol must love this.

Aside from that, we aren't losing much by being separated from them. It does make me hope that no one else is in an alliance though, because we'll certainly be outnumbered. I suspect that's not the case though. So I decide that, yes, this is a good time to be rid of them. They did nothing but threaten my chances of going home anyway.

 _Well, that and they got me this backpack_ , I think with some relief. It has the wire for the snare and the water bottle, which will definitely come in handy. I want to laugh when I think of how Nerissa refused to carry it because it would slow her down. I don't though, because my throat still hurts and I don't want to draw Cato's attention.

I squint up at the sky, noting that the sun shines brightly. I mentally chastise myself for not understanding the arena sooner. Maybe then I wouldn't have been caught in the flood. But in the end, I don't know this climate, so there wasn't much to go off of. Still, I could have died. It's the idea that I wouldn't have been able to put up a fight that gets to me most. The feeling of helplessness burns at my limbs, a sudden bout of restlessness coming over me. I know that it won't last long though. This type of adrenaline will wear off and then I'll crash. The events of today will catch up to me sooner rather than later, and as much as Cato would like to deny it, he's in the same boat.

With that in mind, I stride forward until I'm even with him. "We should rest," I say, trying to add a note of authority to my voice. It sounds more like a croak, but it's the best I can do.

He doesn't look at me when he asks, "Why?"

"Because we're both tired," I tell him.

"I'm fine."

"Maybe right now, but for how much longer? It won't do any good if we're dead on our feet. If someone attacked us right now, how good would we be?"

"I'd be fine."

I shove down the anger building in me. It's not like I didn't already know he's a stubborn jerk. "Maybe. But is it really a risk worth taking? What harm is there in resting for a little?"

His jaw clenches, but after a moment he stops walking. "Fine, but only for a few minutes."

I sigh in relief and follow him as he walks towards an area a little to our left. We both collapse onto the ground, and I know that I've made the right decision. If I were any less tired, I would be surprised by Cato's agreement. But then again, maybe I wouldn't be. Cato is a lot of things, but I wouldn't say stupid is one of them. He knows that we need rest now.

It may not be the wisest thing to do, but I sit back and close my eyes. I feel the exhaustion in my bones, the lack of sleep, and today's events taking their toll. I can feel myself slowly sinking into unconsciousness, the pull of sleep too nice to resist. Unfortunately, it seems like Cato has other plans.

"The other night, the one with the maggots," he says, "who was on the Fallen?"

I open my eyes, squinting slightly at the bright sun. Cato isn't looking at me. Instead he's lounging in the position I was before he spoke, his eyes closed to the world. I completely forgot to mention it, and I guess none of them remembered to ask either.

"Just the boy from Six—the one Mace killed—and…" I trail off. I wonder how he'll take the news, seeing as she was from Two. "And one of the girls from your district. Hera, I think," I tell him bluntly. There's no point in beating around the bush.

He looks unperturbed, but I wouldn't expect him to show me any emotion even if he weren't. I'm pretty sure the only thing he can express is anger.

"It's probably for the better," he says after a moment. "She was more competition than Valora."

I blink slowly at the boy in front of me. For a second, I can't comprehend his words, how callous they are. It's disgusting how easily he can toss this aside. But then again, is it really? It's not like I'm surprised by it. We both knew that all twenty-two remaining tributes had to die for us to win, and that obviously included both girls from his district. They're trained for this type of thing. They know that at most, only one person from Two is coming home. It's routine for them. In a morbid sort of way, it is for us back in Twelve too. The only difference is that we almost never expect anyone from our district to make it. As much as I hate to admit it, his lack of emotional attachment is probably a good thing. It can't be a distraction or get in the way then.

I chastise myself for having to remember that this is the Hunger Games, because I really shouldn't have to at this point. Or any point really. This moral high-ground thing doesn't exist anymore. It's not like I don't have blood on my hands. I've already killed two people, three if they count the crazed girl from Five. The thought makes the food in my stomach churn and so I push it away with my decision. If he doesn't care about her death, there's no reason I should. Not right now at least. There'll be plenty of time for that if I win.

 _Once I win._

"So that leaves nine more," he says, opening his eyes and looking over at me.

I nod, trying to clear the previous thoughts from my head. "Yeah, counting the cannon after the storm. Ten possibilities though," I say. Why couldn't both Mace and Nerissa have died?

"Mace, Nerissa, Topaz, Valora, Tilver, Murrow, the boy from Ten, the boy from Seven, the boy from Eight, and your friend from Six," he finishes, his voice noticeably more gruff on the last one.

I blink at him in surprise. Keeping track of how many cannons is one thing, but knowing who everyone is another. I'm sure Careers are instructed to pay close attention, but that's a lot of detail to remember. I would have assumed that he didn't think they were worth remembering, seeing as he doesn't care about them at all. He knows almost all of their names, but that's probably just because most of them are Careers. Still, though, knowing that he pays this much attention makes me feel a little better. That is until I remember that most of my advantage comes from the Careers having to rely on me.

"You need to be more careful," Cato says after a moment of silence.

My eyes narrow at the boy. "With what?"

"You can't stumble close to edge like that during a storm. You could have brought us all down."

I can feel my blood beginning to simmer with the implication. It's takes all my remaining energy not to tell him that I wish that were the case. "I don't think that's very likely."

"It would be if you caused a landslide."

"Well I didn't."

"Lucky for us."

"Like it would have made a difference? In case you forgot we still ended up in a flash flood."

"Just watch it next time."

I send him a glare, but don't say any more. I don't see the point. He's too stubborn and arrogant to back down. I can still feel the anger simmering beneath my skin, but I do my best to focus on my breathing to calm my heart rate. It's not like I caused the flood. We would have been in the same situation anyway, not that he'd even admit it. But I guess Cato meant every word he said about me being dead weight. As much as it frustrates me, I will have to be more careful. Any misstep I make will be viewed as a weakness to Cato, and that will be one step closer to him killing me.

Cato speaks again, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"We start moving again in ten."

* * *

I wipe at the sweat on my forehead, wishing we had made our way back to the swamp. I haven't bothered to bring it up because I know it won't be a welcome suggestion. Nerissa may not be the brightest, but Mace isn't stupid. And if he's the one alive—if both of them are alive— I can't risk going there, not if they've gone back for the nests. Cato might like his chances, but I don't. If only Haymitch could send me something.

We've been trekking for a few hours at least, the sun still shining brightly in the sky. The dry heat has returned, which indicates that there won't be a storm for a while. Not that it's much of a comfort. The Gamemakers could get bored again and change their minds. Who knows what they'd send down next.

I remember one year there was acid rain in some parts of the arena. Anyone caught in it was dead in a few short minutes. It's hard to forget the way their skin sizzled and burned, their agonized screams booming through the speakers. I shiver at the memory, praying that that particular scenario or one like it isn't in store for us.

There's heaviness in the air that has nothing to do with the weather, and everything to do with the tension between Cato and me. It isn't anything new, but it makes me uneasy. My fingers twitch around the handle of my knife, grip tight all the while we walk.

Eventually, Cato declares it's time to stop for the night. I try to cover the relief I feel over the fact that we won't be hunting other tributes tonight. I'm sure that short rest we took hours ago wasn't nearly enough after the battering we both took in the flood. He won't admit it, but I can see that he's moving slower than usual. There's no doubt that he's still deadly, but he's definitely not a hundred percent. And then there's the fact that hunting would mostly consist of Careers going after Careers. Definitely not something he can risk.

Even though I'm exhausted, I know we need to eat. I take care of the snare and collect some food, while Cato scouts the area. By the time I get back, he's already on the ground lounging against a tree, looking lost in thought.

I pass over the berries and nuts I've collected without a word. Cato matches my silence. This is safe. This I can handle. We can't provoke any anger or murderous desires from each other this way. And then we can't make ourselves look bad to sponsors. Or, at least we can't make ourselves look any worse.

The anthem momentarily distracts us both from our thoughts, the pictures of the Fallen lighting up the sky. I hold my breath as I wait for the face to appear. My stomach sinks when it does.

The face of a beautiful girl from One—Topaz—appears, and she is the only one.

So they're both still out there. Mace and Nerissa, the deadly pair from One and Four. The only pair of Careers. The Capitol favorites.

"Great," I mumble. My gut clenches in both fear and frustration as the logo fades.

"What was that?"

I turn my gaze towards Cato. I see no point in lying. "I said that's just great. Of course they're both still alive. Because it would just be too easy otherwise."

Cato raises an eyebrow in reply, but I can see the tenseness in his shoulders. I doubt he's happy about it either.

"I'll take first watch," he says.

"I can do it," I say quickly, the sudden fear taking over again. Sleep doesn't sound like such a good idea anymore.

Cato's eyes narrow, and I can't help but feel like he can see right through me. He probably does. I wouldn't even be surprised if he was aware of how little sleep I've been getting. It makes me realize that the signs probably show on my face: the bags under my eyes, the tiredness in my movements. Everyone probably knows how tired I am.

"Weren't you the one saying how important rest is?"

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from frowning. "Fine," I say. I suddenly have no energy to argue with him. It's better that I go to sleep, I decide. I definitely can't defend myself against him if I'm ready to pass out.

As uncomfortable as it makes me, I put my back to a tree and face Cato. At least this way, I'll be more alert if he tries something. I grip my knife tighter just in case. It makes me wonder if he's worried that I might try something when he's sleeping. Although, he's made his thoughts on me pretty clear, so I doubt it. He may have said that he thought I had backbone, but there's a difference between talking back and actually following through. Unfortunately, I think we both know that I won't do anything unless it's completely necessary. The mere thought of a confrontation with Cato is enough to suck the rest of my energy away. Despite the fear clawing at me, my eyes begin to flutter closed. I'm asleep in seconds.

* * *

There's pressure on my leg, and I wish it would go away. I'm too tired for this. I relax a little when it disappears. Then it's back and gone again, and I'm not relaxed anymore. I feel the pressure again and I jolt up, my arm swinging out. I blink rapidly to clear my vision, my eyes landing on the source of the pressure. Cato is crouched at the end of my feet, an eyebrow raised in what I think is amusement.

"Be careful with that, Twelve. You could hurt yourself."

I scowl, but don't reply. Instead I pull myself to my feet seeing as his shift is obviously over. I hear Cato chuckle quietly to himself, and my scowl deepens.

"Wake me up in four hours," is all he says before settling back down.

Is that how much sleep I got? The sky is still somewhat bright, but that might just be the arena. I shake my head. It doesn't matter. It's more sleep than I've gotten in four days, so it's good enough for me.

` It's frustrating to realize that killing time in the arena is just as difficult as everything else. In some ways, I think it's worse. At least when we're moving, there are distractions. With a frown, I pull my knife out and continue with what I was doing yesterday. I think I improve a little too, but it's hard to tell. Who knows what would happen if I tried to use this in real combat.

Unfortunately, I tire of that far sooner than I'd like, and so I have nothing to do but stare at the artificial sky. _Water_ , I remind myself thanks to the ache in my throat. That's what I can worry about right now. It's what I should be worrying about. I rack my brain for information, trying to recall anything from the training center that could help us. I know that there are some plants that hold water—like the cacti in Amelia's games—but none of these look similar to that or like the ones I remember. _Think_.

I get to my feet and start wandering around. It's not as easy to inspect the plants in the dim light, but it's the best I can do. Something hollow, I remind myself as I look up at the trees. I have half a mind to try to climb one to look for water, but I'd probably end up grabbing a vine and falling to my death. The thought makes me pause for a moment, and then it hits me.

The vines.

I grab one from the tree in front of me and cut through it. The effect is almost instantaneous. Water comes rushing out of the hollowed vegetation. I drink it eagerly, even more grateful that I decided to go to that station.

I consider waking Cato up, but ultimately decide against it. The more energy he has, the better. _The more to kill me with._ But I'd be kidding myself if I thought that even tired, I could beat Cato. There'd have to be something seriously wrong with him for that to happen. Or I'd need a miracle. The two are practically the same.

With the exception of birds chirping, the night is quiet, and, luckily, passes without incident. Cato wakes on his own, which I'm thankful for. I don't want to get close to him, especially when he has a death grip on the sword and no qualms about using it.

"I'm going to check the snare," I tell him. "Can you start the fire?"

He nods and says, "Don't take too long. We need to get moving soon."

I try not to. Not for Cato's sake, of course, but because I'm really starting to dislike wandering around on my own, especially now that I know Mace and Nerissa are on the loose. Cato's not exactly a safe bet, but it's the best option I have at the moment.

When I get to the snare, the first thing I do is fill the water bottle, because, really, I should have done that hours ago. Then I turn my attention to the animal caught in the trap. It looks almost like a large cat—at least three feet long—with its white whiskers and long tail. It has thick, black fur, which I can already tell is going to be a pain to skin. Its mouth hangs slightly open, revealing four incredibly sharp teeth. It makes me squirm, and I glance up at the trees in paranoia. Satisfied that there's nothing there, I remove the animal from the wire and make my way back.

The sounding of screeching metal reaches my ears and I freeze in place. It's coming from the direction I left Cato, and I don't need any confirmation to know what's happening. Knots form in the pit of my stomach and my spine stiffens with uncertainty. For a brief second, I contemplate leaving Cato to fend for himself. I have no clue what's going on. He could be outnumbered, and I could walk straight to my death. I inwardly curse at the feeling of guilt that curls in my chest and forces my feet forward. I'm not in any rush though. The sound of grunting and metal clashing carries over the light breeze, and then suddenly there's no sound at all. I stop where I am and wait for the cannon, but it doesn't come.

A few more seconds of silence tick by, and nothing. I move tentatively forward. I'm only about thirty feet from where I left Cato, but I can't see through the vegetation. There's the sound of footsteps, and I know they don't belong to me. Suddenly, a forms slices through the heavy brush and I rear back, but it is just Cato.

Except it's not. The last Cato I saw was splattered with mud and still trying to clear away the last remnants of sleep. This is an entirely different person. I thought I had seen the Career Cato before, but I realize that I was wrong. This is the real Career: cold, angry eyes and no hint of fear or remorse. He's carrying a spear he didn't have before and blood trickles from a gash on his shoulder. It doesn't account for the rest that I see on his jacket or the spots on his face. I blink, and it's Karn in front of me, soaked in blood and amusement. I blink again, and it's back to Cato, but it's not very different.

I'm terrified. I've never been this close to this: to seeing the darkest parts of someone. He is every bit as brutal as I imagined and yet it still shocks me to the core. It freezes me in place and makes me want to run all at the same time. It's not that I didn't expect it, because I did. I _knew._ But knowing isn't the same as seeing.

"What are you looking at, Twelve?" he says, his voice laced with anger.

He marches past me, but I can't move. I glance back in the direction he came from, uneasiness settling in my limbs.

"What are you doing? Let's go," he commands.

Silence meets his comment, and it's exactly why I can't move.

"There wasn't a cannon," I say. I don't know why, but it's all I can think about.

"What?"

My eyes trail over the red on his jacket, and I have to look away. "I didn't hear a cannon."

Cato's eyes narrow in my direction. "He's dead."

 _He_. It's a he.

"He can't be," I say. "We would have heard one by now."

"By all means, then, go check," he says, his voice menacing.

My chest constricts and then my heart is beating loudly against my ribs. My mouth answers before my brain can catch up.

"Fine," I say and then I'm walking forward.

I can hear the sound of Cato stepping behind me, and I'm sure he hears my sharp intake of breath. There's a figure on the ground, unmoving and with their back— _his_ back—towards me. He can't be dead, I know he can't be, so I keep a wide berth as I walk around him. I swallow dryly when the metallic scent of blood fills my nostrils. I don't do anything when I see his face.

Tilver.

I don't really know what to feel at the moment. There's a boy in front of me who's bleeding to death, but there's a horrible realization tugging at the back of mind that I don't really care. I remember clearly every word he said to me in the first arena, every hit, every second he distracted me that led to Barden's death. I don't care about him at all. But I still feel sick, because he's _not_ dead. He's dying, but he's dying so _slowly_. I can tell because there's little air bubbles in the blood around his mouth. He's still breathing, but he doesn't stand a chance. It's like the girl from Five before Karn put her out of her misery.

"He'll die any second, Twelve. I struck him myself. Let's go."

I look to Cato, who's standing with his arms crossed and his face emotionless. But there's a new emotion in his voice that I can't quite place. I ignore him. For a second, I'm not aware of anything but Amelia's bracelet on my wrist. When the back of my eyes begin to ache, I pull a knife from my vest and crouch before the dying boy. I stare at him for a second, but he doesn't open his eyes, so I plunge the knife forward. I remove it, and wait as the seconds tick by. A cannon sounds.

The ache in my throat and eyes remain, but as I pick my stuff up and stand, my blood begins to simmer.

" _Now_ he's dead," I say as I march past Cato.

I can't look at him. If I do, I might use this knife on him. Either that or I might start crying. That would look great on camera. They'd probably say I've lost it. Which might be true. What was I thinking? Why did I ever think that Cato and I could be a team, that he could be human? He was just going to leave Tilver there to suffer. The thought makes my stomach churn. Maybe him and Demetrius aren't the same—maybe Cato is worse. I'll never get away from him though. He'll kill me the second I make a run for it, and he would definitely make me suffer.

I don't even let myself begin to think about what my mentors or Mabel or Mr. Fairbain think of this. I can't believe I was so stupid. I keep making the same mistake over and over again. The only time it could have worked out was Barden, and it's partially because of me that he's dead.

"What's gotten into you?" Cato asks.

I whirl around to face the boy, to ask what exactly he's talking about. But then I hear it: my shallow breathing, the blood rushing in my ears. What's wrong with me?

"Nothing," I hiss. "I just need some water."

Of course, that means I actually have to stop. When I do, I realize that I'm still holding the dead animal. It's huge, and so I know that Cato had to have noticed it. Why did he let me just wander around with it?

"We should eat," I say. Then I immediately berate myself.

I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm all over the place mentally, and I hate it. I haven't felt this desperate, this helpless and angry in years. I'm suddenly exhausted in every way imaginable. I need to get myself under control.

It was bound to hit me eventually. Counting the first arena, I've been fighting for my life for two weeks, so a part of me is surprised that it didn't happen sooner. But still, it only makes me angrier. Get a grip, I tell myself, because I know that's what everyone who gives a damn about me would say.

 _I won't let them win._ I repeat the thought over and over again, until I feel like my head isn't so foggy anymore.

"Are you going to start that anytime soon?" Cato asks, indicating to the animal in my hand.

My gaze slides over to him. He's splashing water on his face, wiping away the remnants of his fight with Tilver. At least that's different than Karn. My gaze shifts when I hear the sound of crackling. Apparently he started the fire too.

I've been standing here too long, I realize.

"Just making sure everything's set," I say, ignoring the way Cato's eyebrow arches. I'll have to do better to fool him too.

I set to work after that, thinking about nothing but what to do now that I remember that it's impossible for Cato and I to work together. As much as I'd like to think otherwise, I don't have many options.

I could make a run for it. I'm fast. But he'd probably find some way to kill me. He's deadly with a spear, so that's not a safe bet. I could sneak away in the middle of the night. It's more viable, but unlikely to work. Cato may have slept through the anthem, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're trained to be aware of certain types of sounds and movements even while sleeping. It might just be paranoia, but I'm not sure it's a risk I'm willing to take. I could attack him, but it's obvious how that would end. The last option is sticking it out until an opportunity presents itself. In the end that's what I go with—make a break for it when there's an opening. Not exactly sound planning, but it's the best I can do at the moment.

This would be so much easier if I wouldn't feel guilty about poisoning him.

The boy in question doesn't break my train of thought until we're in the middle of eating.

"Which one?" he asks.

My brows furrow, but I don't look over to him. "Which what?"

"Where'd you get the water? The trees or the vines?"

I look up out of pure surprise at how fast he put it together. It fades quickly though. It's one of the only things I've shown myself to be particularly good at, so it's not really that big of a leap. Though I am surprised that he's managed to narrow it down so much. I contemplate not telling him, but that's one way to ensure his wrath, so eventually I answer.

"Vines."

He nods and gets up, cutting a vine and refilling the water bottle. He tosses the bottle in my direction when he's done, and I frown down at it.

He must notice. "You said you needed water."

The way he says it is innocent enough, but there's something else there. It tells me that he didn't buy my excuse; that he could tell something else was going on. I don't know what he thinks of it though, so I just pretend that it was true.

"I did. I _do_ ," I correct. "Thanks."

* * *

We've been walking for a few hours, the sun beating down harshly on us. We have to stop frequently to get more water. At the rate we're drinking it, I'm surprised there's any left in the whole arena.

The only sounds between us come from our panting or the animals around us. Cato leads the way, slicing through the brush, and even he can't pretend that he's not exhausted. The only consolation to the tiredness in my limbs and the sweat spilling from my pores is that everyone in the arena is going through this. They are all just as affected as we are.

Hopefully.

We barely say another word to each other the rest of the day. When night falls, we are both tired and overheated, and even Cato is not up for picking a fight—with either me or another tribute. In a weird way, this is the most peaceful we've been since entering the arena. It's a terrifying thought considering what happened today. I'm sure Cato has his own opinions, but neither of us speaks them when Tilver's face appears in the sky.

Outside of "I'll start the fire," or "I'll check the snare," or "I've got first watch," the silence and peace holds strong.

I barely get an hour of sleep.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **SOOOO... Tilver is dead, Briar's horrified, and they still haven't killed each other. Let me know what you guys think!**

 **SecretsWithSouls00: Not gonna lie, the flood was super hard to write. I watched about 20 different videos of flash floods and listening to the sounds of trees snapping for about an hour lol.**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Could it get any worse? Oh yes, it can always get worse.**

 **FriendlyNeightborhoodHufflepuff: Alas, it is neither Mace or Nerissa. What a shame.**

 **CranberryTruffle: Hate probably isn't the right word for Briar and Cato... its probably more like resentment for a lot of different reasons. After this whole Tilver affair, we'll see if there's any healing to be had.**

 **WhiteEevee: You're most welcome for the visual. I was definitely going for gross, so glad that worked. The fire/sword scene was indeed a reference to the movie xD The sand thing is true! I did a lot of research for this stuff to make sure I wasn't just talking out of butt lol. Not sure if there are any water filtration enthusiasts on here, but if there are, didn't want to offend them.**

 **That's all for now! Thanks for reading!**


	22. Chapter 21: Status Quo

**Chapter 21: Status Quo**

"Pick up the pace."

I glare at the head in front of me. "What's the rush? It's not like we have anywhere to be."

Cato throws a fleeting, but unhappy look over his shoulder. "We'll never find anyone sitting still," he says. "Besides, I didn't think you'd be eager to stay in one spot."

I don't have to see his face to know that it's condescending. The impulse to roll my eyes is nearly too great, but I manage to refrain. He's right, at least about me not wanting to stay in one spot. But he doesn't have to be so condescending… or so eager.

"Well we don't have to move so quickly. We're wasting a lot of energy marching around with no purpose."

Cato stops suddenly and I jolt back. His face is the picture of impatience when he turns to look at me. "Do you just enjoy contradicting me?"

"No."

He sends me an unamused look. "The purpose is to find the other tributes, and then kill them."

The statement is said so bluntly that it should bother me, but it doesn't. That makes me more uncomfortable than the statement itself. Especially after what happened yesterday. Cato doesn't terrify me any less, but there's something different in our interactions now. I'm nearly positive that it's all in my head. I don't have any illusions now of what Cato is really capable of, but he didn't kill me. Maybe it's not exactly right to compare him with Karn, but I can't help it. They both had that dead look in their eyes, but while Karn's were painted with fogginess and instability, Cato's were hardened, but otherwise unreadable. And unlike Karn, Cato could have killed me, or at least tried to, but he didn't.

That doesn't mean my opinion of him has changed, or that I'm any less angry about how he treated Tilver, but the fact that he can go from inhumane to falling into that weird sort of peace with me… I shake my head. I don't know what it means, or why I think it could mean anything at all. Thinking about it is just as much a waste of energy as wandering around aimlessly.

I'm saved from having to respond to Cato's comment by the sound of rustling. "Do you hear that?"

Cato glances at the rock wall behind me, his eyebrows furrowing. He nods, indicating for me to turn around. My heart rate increases thanks to the look on his face. I follow his instruction.

"Are those…" I squint, not quite trusting my eyes. "Are those bats?"

"Looks like it."

"If bats are the size of dogs," I mumble. "We should probably move."

"You think?"

I send him a sarcastic smile and then walk away quickly, leaving him behind me.

Most of our conversation for the day goes the same—bickering with a strong undercurrent of hostility. I'm just thankful that the hostility stays in conversation and doesn't progress to anything more. I realize that I should probably be more careful about how I talk to Cato, because if I've learned anything from our interactions, especially the ones on the roof, it's that Cato is extremely quick to anger. He doesn't like people talking back to him, and I have little doubt that I'm trying his patience. It gives me a weird sense of satisfaction, which I quickly try to tamper. That will only get me into trouble. I remember what Haymitch said about not being openly antagonistic when it comes to Cato. Haymitch will kill me himself if I keep digging a bigger hole for myself. It's practically all I can think about when I lay down to sleep.

Three days. That's how long it's been since we were separated from Mace and Nerissa. Since it's been just Cato and me in this horrible place.

I slice aggressively at the animal in my lap. The stupid squirrel attacked while we were walking. One minute it's quiet, and then next, the tiny animal comes flying out of a tree—and I mean literally flying because apparently squirrels can do that. Cato sliced it out of the air easily enough, and I can't forget the face he made when I picked it up. The disgust was clear and completely amusing, even more so when I told him it was lunch. I move to toss the squirrel's kidney to side, my nose wrinkling at the scent, but then I stop. There isn't that much meat on the squirrel, the kidney's edible, and I'm hungry. I put it with the rest of the usable meat, and it's the first thing I place over the fire.

I catch sight of Cato as the food cooks slowly. He's staring intently at the kidney on the branch, his face scrunched together. My own face begins to scrunch because of his, partially in an attempt to keep from laughing and partially because I'm confused as to what's got him so disgusted.

"Is that edible?" he asks, nodding towards the skewered organ.

"It's a kidney," I say. He raises an eyebrow. "Yes," I amend, "it's edible."

There's a few seconds of silence and then he speaks again. "So this is what you do in your district?" he asks.

There's obvious distaste in his voice, like he can't possibly comprehend someone doing this for a living. Like he's one to talk.

"It's not that bad."

He glances over to the pile of discarded body parts and frowns. "You sure about that?"

"Not that much different than what we're doing here," I tell him. He narrows his eyes slightly, and I quickly amend my comment. "Besides, it's just a dead animal. Never had squirrel before?"

"You have?"

"Yeah, but not one that flies," I say before snapping my mouth shut.

Squirrel meat isn't typical; it's one of the things I worked with in the Hob. Obviously it's illegal, and I just admitted to eating it in front of all of Panem. Not that I think they'll be many consequences. Everyone will probably just chalk it up to how poor Twelve is. Still, I need to change the direction of the conversation. Or stop it all together.

Cato seems to be of the same mind because the only thing he says the rest of the meal is that we start moving again when we're finished. I can't decide if I hate doing the same thing day after day or if I prefer it. I'm not used to unpredictably. Every day in Twelve was the same routine. I know how to get by this way, but unlike the people of Twelve, the Gamemakers hate predictability. The thought makes me edgy as we pack up and begin wandering again. Cato still insists there's a purpose to it. I still argue the opposite.

I glance up at the sky, frowning at the gray color. This is one type of predictability that frustrates me.

"It seems like a schedule," Cato says from beside me.

I turn my gaze to him, my frown deepening. "What?"

He nods up towards the sky and says, "Four days before the storm hit last time."

He's right of course, and I'm glad that I don't have to explain it. It's makes my stomach churn. I would rather not get swept up again because chances are I won't be so lucky next time. Maybe Cato wouldn't either. I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand he hasn't killed me yet, but on the other… I catch sight of the Cato's newly acquired spear, the one he must have picked up after his fight with Tilver.

The words are out of my mouth before I have time to stop them. "What happened with Tilver?"

Cato's head snaps up to look at me, his eyes narrowing on my face. "Why?"

"No reason," I say quickly, "I was just wondering." _Because I'm afraid you're going to do the same to me._ "That was his, right?" I ask, nodding towards the spear in his hand.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you just leave it?" I already know the answer and it's not the question I really want to ask.

He pulls to a stop. "God-dammit, Twelve, why won't you just leave it alone?" he growls.

"Why did you just leave him there without finishing him off?" And just like that it's out there, the real question.

He takes a step closer to me, his gaze threatening and unwavering. "He would have died. There's no way that he would have survived more than a few minutes," he says, his voice taking on the same tone he had that day. Then he's walking again.

I release a shaky breath, but follow after him. I don't ask any more questions because I think I have my answer. I couldn't figure out what that tone meant at first, or I didn't care to. But now I know what it sounds like. Frustration. I realize that maybe there was another reason behind Cato's coldness regarding Tilver. At least partially. He said it perfectly: ' _I struck him myself.'_ And it didn't work. He failed to kill Tilver. It's a failure in Career eyes, and so he had to make it better. He had to make it look like he didn't care, like it didn't bother him. Otherwise it just makes him look weak. It's no excuse, but at least it makes sense. I'm dimly aware of the fact that this just might be an attempt to justify it to myself, but I shove the thought away.

"Stop moving," Cato's voice says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Wh—"

"Quiet."

The urgency in his voice forces me to listen. My body responds before my brain really processes the instructions. The light wind that blows through the air makes me flinch. The previously quiet arena is suddenly too loud with the sound of animals and wind and snapping twigs.  
Cato is staring intently at something over my left shoulder. My neck strains with the urge to turn but I don't. The loud noises of the forest suddenly die down and then I hear a clicking noise. It sounds like a horse's hooves, but a shadow shifts between the trees and I know that it's not. At quick glance, it looks like a fallen branch. But then it bends at the joint and the shadows clear away. There's more clicking and the creature moves into view. My eyes widen as I take it in.

The spider is far larger than normal. Its beady eyes, all eight of them, stare intently at us. It has to be at least six feet tall, its large, brown body covered in hair.

"Cato…"

"What?" he hisses, still looking over my shoulder.

My eyes shift to the pointed fangs hanging from the creature's mouth. I shiver at the sight. They're large and black and clear liquid drips from them to the forest floor.

"I think there's one behind you."

His eyes flit to the side, but he doesn't turn his head. "A spider?"

"Yeah."

"Two more on your left."

"Got any ideas?"

"Kill them."

"Genius."

The clicking sound returns and Cato tenses in front of me. My eyes fly over the area, looking for any way out. There's a flicker of something to my right. I squint to see it better, the sun shining brightly off the tiny fibers. I can't tell what it is until I see a small bird suspended in mid-air. It's a web, one large enough for the mutt spiders.

"They're backing us in."

Cato's eyes don't move. "I know. I see it."

The coil of fear is unwinding rapidly, spreading adrenaline through my body.

"Run?" I ask, praying that the answer is yes.

"East," is all he says.

He shifts the spear in his hand, and there's a horrible hissing noise from all around us. Neither of us waits another second before bolting.

The sound of hissing and clicking echoes loudly all around us as we take off. They're already close. I didn't even think about how fast they could be. I force my arms to move faster. Branches and leaves smack into me with every step I take, roots and twigs making me stumble. How close are they now? Fifty feet? I suck air into my burning chest, my legs moving quickly beneath me.

Cato runs beside me, but he's having trouble keeping up. I can hear him panting. He slips back every few seconds and then catches up again. He can't sustain it. I'll lose him eventually. It's just like the last arena, I think, as the spider mutt hisses. I'm faster, I could leave him behind. But this time, there's three of them. I won't be safe. Suddenly, there's the sound of snapping, and then a tree begins to drop. My legs strain with the effort but I manage to turn just as the tree hits the ground. The earth vibrates beneath me and I feel it through my whole body. I don't slow down though. I can't.

I suck in a sharp breath. I can't think about what will happen if it catches me. The clicking of its legs matches the beating of my heart and it's all I can hear. My head snaps to the side where Cato was but there's only a blur of trees. I risk a glance over my shoulder. The beady, black eyes of the spiders stare at me, their legs scrambling quickly to follow after me. Only me. Cato and one of the mutts are nowhere in sight.

The nausea and crippling fear bubbles up, and it would be so easy to just give up now. But Mabel's voice rings in my ears, telling me that I have to try, so I do. I can't give up now. I pump my legs faster.

Yellow and blue flashes in front of me suddenly, the green fading. I break through the tree line, the gold of the Cornucopia shining harshly before me. Tributes could be lying in wait.

I sprint forward. There's nowhere else to go. I can feel myself tiring out, blackness settling at the edges of my vision. I step onto the stone bridge. I'm halfway across when it tilts to the side, sending me stumbling forward. I'm on my feet quickly, but it's not enough. The mutts are too fast. One large leg collides with my body and I'm sent tumbling back.

I skid across the ground, the air leaving my lungs in one breath as I stop a few feet from the Cornucopia. I can see its shadow loom over me even with the dark spots in my eyes. I can't think of anything but the people I'm letting down. _I'm sorry_ , I think as I hold my breath and wait for it to strike.

It doesn't come. I can feel their shadows over me, but they're still, their beady eyes staring straight ahead at the gold mass in front of them. For seconds, that's all they do.

 _They're blind._

The realization comes suddenly. It's why they didn't attack earlier. They found Cato and I when we were talking, but they couldn't find us when we were silent. It's why they only responded any time we made noise.

 _Think!_ How does this help me? I can't get up without making too much noise, but I can't sit here forever. I try to focus on what's around me, if there's anything I can use to my advantage. Aside from the Cornucopia, the floating island is empty. I can hear the water rushing below me, and I shift my gaze to the edge of the stone and the tilting path. There's nothing to stop them from going over if I could get them there. Even if it doesn't work, I just need enough space to get away.

My pulse thumps loudly in my ears as I reach for one of the rocks on the ground. I snap my wrist and send it flying towards the edge of the island. Both spider mutts jerk on the spot, spinning and scurrying towards the sound. I push myself up, but fall over when I try to stand, my shoulder colliding with the Cornucopia. My leg is numb, and I look down to the see the pant leg torn, a bumpy red rash forming on my skin. The sound of my body hitting the metal alerts the spiders to my presence, and they both turn, ready to charge again. One is too close to the edge though, some of its legs slipping, sending it tumbling down into the canyon below.

I suck in a heavy breath through my nose, but it's too loud. The second spider charges towards me, and I throw myself to the side to dodge the attack. It hits the Cornucopia, making it disoriented for a second and giving me enough time to stumble to my feet. I force my numb leg to move, but it's no use. I only make it to the edge of the path before it's on me again. I fall backwards, the spider stopping once it's above me. It raises its head up, fangs ready to strike. I reach for a knife on instinct, my arm swinging into one of its legs as the fangs come down. The force of my blow knocks it off balance, the sharp teeth landing on either side of my shoulders, digging deeply into the stone surface. I can feel the world titling on its axis, but then I realize it's just the bridge. I want to cry when it hisses and rears its head back again. Instead, I throw my body to side. The platform rolls with me. I see the spider tilt, its legs catching me as it slides. My lower body falls from the surface as the spider flies into the water below.

My elbows push painfully against the rocks, my hands tightening their grip. My stomach drops to my feet when one of the rocks begins to slide, and I know I don't have much time. The platform will only tip more if I try to swing myself up, but I can't hold on forever. My arms and my lungs burn from the strain. I look to the platform that holds the Cornucopia on my right. It's only a foot away, but I'm too afraid to let go and grab it. But I can't be. I'll fall to my death anyway if I don't try.

But then a few horrifying seconds later, the platform shakes and rights itself. Mild relief settles in my stomach, sending adrenaline through my limbs. _It's now or never._ With a deep breath, I lift my right arm and throw it forward.

There's a terrifying second of emptiness, but then it catches a rock further from the edge. Slowly, I push all of my weight onto my left elbow, using my right hand to pull my body forward. Another pull and my upper body rests on the stone. It's enough to swing my legs over, or at least one. The numb leg refuses to cooperate, and I'm forced to roll the opposite way to get my whole body up.

I lay flat on the ground, staring up at the darkening sky as relief surges through every nerve in my body. I can't hear anything but the beating of my heart and the shallowness of my breathing. I'm alive. We're al—

I bolt upright, my head whipping around. There's no one here, just as I suspected.

Cato is gone and I am alone.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Sorry this is both late and short. I've been sick all week and I have two midterms due Monday, so life has just gotten in the way a bit.**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Guess now they don't have to worry about getting along hehehehe**

 **WhiteEevee: Cato can be sort of pleasant if he wants to be, can't he? AHHHH thanks, I was pretty proud of that line, not gonna lie**

 **FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: hmmm civil? is that possible?**

 **SecretsWithSouls00: haha I try. I don't want to do anything or my readers a disservice by making things up**

 **lovewords: nope, no Mace or Nerissa, but now no Cato either... where will this go? dundundun**

 **Anyway, thanks so much for reading and sticking with me!**


	23. Chapter 22: Choices

Chapter 22: Choices

After a few more seconds of sitting still, I decide it's time to get moving. I can think about what I'm going to do now that I'm alone once I'm out of the open. I decide that it's best to go to the mouth of the Cornucopia. Someone could be hiding there, but with everything that just happened, I have a hard time imagining anyone would have stuck around. I force myself to my feet. Well, foot. There's a light tingling sensation where the rash is, but other than that it remains completely numb. I have to drag it behind me as I walk. Gingerly, I round the front of the Cornucopia, knife at the ready. There's nothing inside, not even empty crates or racks. I frown, but it means that no one can hide here, and so I stumble through the opening, sliding down against the nearest wall.

Somehow, I still have the backpack with me, which means water and the wire for the snare. That's unfortunate for…Cato.

What happened to him? Is he dead? I don't think so, because I don't remember hearing a cannon, but I was so distracted that I don't know if I would have. Even if he is alive right now, who knows what will happen to him. He could be dying, or he could be perfectly fine. I can't decide which I would rather. I tell the guilt nagging at my brain to give it a rest already. If he's dead or dying, there's nothing I can do about it.

It's the first time I've been alone in the arena, really alone, I mean. Except for the first few hours of the first arena and right after Barden died, I've always had someone with me. It's not like it's that much different. I'll still have to be just as careful. I'll still have to survive the day. But it seems a lot more daunting now that I'm by myself. I tell myself to suck it up. It's not like I haven't been alone before. I can deal with it. I have to.

My left leg remains numb as I sit there, but I can feel a dull pain begin to move up from my hip, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. I glare down at the rash, wishing it would disappear. No such luck. I bet Mabel is crying, or at least, trying not to. In some weird way the thought gives me a little more energy. I know that she cares about me. She's always been obvious about that.

I broke my hand once; when we were eight. We were racing back home and a Peacekeeper stepped in my way, unhappy with us being happy. I tripped and fell, the crack of the bone audible to anyone around. She cried for days then, not because she thought she was at fault, but because she knew I was in pain. Her innocence is nice, but it makes her unable to watch people suffer. It's unfortunate for her, because there isn't much else to see in District Twelve. Or in here. It makes me feel bad for putting her through this.

The sound of beeping draws my attention to the open space outside the Cornucopia. My eyes widen when a small, gray parachute floats down to me. I yank it out of the air and hastily open it, pulling a canister from within. A little white piece of paper sits on top.

This going to hurt. Be smart. –H

I toss it to the side with a roll of my eyes . Like I didn't already know that last part. I pick the canister up from where I left it, my eyebrows furrowing when I see what's inside. It's filled with a strange odorless orange goo, and there are no directions to go with it. It must be for my leg though, considering that's the only thing really wrong with me at the moment. I'm a little hesitant due to the first part of the note, but it's not like Haymitch is trying to kill me. Scooping a generous amount with my fingers, I apply it to the rash on my thigh. I don't feel anything for the first few minutes, so I think about how I must have gotten it. The legs of the spider were probably coated in some type of poison, not that it matters now. So long as this stuff works.

I don't give it much though after that because I smell something burning. Then the rash begins to sizzle. White-hot pain shoots through my leg and up the left side of my body. I feel like I'm being burned apart from the inside out, and I have to bite down on my cheek to keep from crying out, but a whimper still bubbles past my lips. Tears spring to my eyes and my bite doesn't lessen even though I can taste blood filling my mouth. And then the burning and the pain stops. I spit the blood to the side and wheeze in a few deep breaths, trying to calm my heart rate. I pull the ripped piece of the pant leg aside, seeing nothing of the previous rash. There's nothing but clean skin, not even so much as a scab.

I say a quiet thank you to the air, my voice coming out weak and croaky. My mouth feels like sandpaper, and the dryness of my throat won't let me focus on anything but water. I take a long pull from the bottle, relishing the cool relief. I don't know how long or how far I ran, and the heat of the arena only exacerbates the problem, making it nearly impossible to tell. All I know is that I can't stay here. There's probably a reason for it being empty and even if there's not, I don't want to stick around for when the other tributes stumble their way over here.

It's a tough debate though. If Cato and I are right and the storm hits on the fourth day, it would be smart to stay here and take cover. It's already getting dark outside and I know that tomorrow will arrive soon enough. And I'm exhausted. There's no clear benefit to me wandering around in the middle of the night trying to find shelter and not die. And then there's the matter of Cato. How did I lose him? Do I try to find him? Is he even alive?

In the end, I decide to stay at the Cornucopia for the night, and my questions about Cato are answered when the anthem comes and goes without a single face appearing. My body can't decide what it wants to feel in that moment. I think it's some combination of fear, disappointment, and relief, which doesn't really make sense. I didn't think you could feel all those things at once, but it wouldn't be the first time I was wrong. It doesn't matter though, because Cato's not here and I don't know how I would find him anyway. So for the time being, I'm alone and therefore these feelings are useless. Haymitch said to be smart, and so that's what I'm going to do, I think, as sleep finally pulls me under.

* * *

I jerk wake, the images of my nightmare fading. I glare at the leather on my wrist, suddenly hating the constant reminder. I was free of this nightmare—the desert and the blood and the pain—for days and now it's back. It's like my mind's form of a sick joke. I'm finally free of Cato physically and he just pops back into my mind.

With a grumble, I pull myself up and walk to the opening to inspect the day. The sky is gray again, but it's hard to see anyway. The wind whistles loudly against the metal of the Cornucopia, and I know that we were right about the storm. I know I should leave. There's a pit of uncertainty deep in my stomach telling me to go. So when one last loop around the inside Cornucopia confirms that there's nothing here, I head out. The only problem now is which way to go. I glance from side to side, trying to figure out which path to take. I know that Cato and I were on the west side originally, but after seeing what it's like there, I don't know if I want to go back. Especially if Mace and Nerissa are still hanging around over there. On the other hand, the east side could be just as dangerous. Or worse. They look exactly the same, but that doesn't mean they are.

The Gamemakers must know that I'm having trouble deciding, because thunder cracks above and I no longer have a choice. The path to the west begins to shake and rest of the Cornucopia follows. I sprint to the other side, stumbling as the path shakes beneath me. I step on solid ground and turn just in time to watch the entire structure of the Cornucopia drop down into the canyon. I blink in surprise, unsure of what to do, but then there's a flash of lightning and the rain begins. I have nowhere to go I realize, and I can't risk getting caught in the storm again. I look around frantically, trying to decide on a direction, but all I see is a canyon and trees.

I suddenly know what my best option is. I scramble forward to the base of a tree, praying that it's not coated in something that will kill me. It takes me a long time to reach a suitable branch. I wasn't exaggerating when I told any of them that I'm not very good at climbing, and with the addition of the wind and the water, I slip and nearly fall more times than I can count. When I'm finally stable, I wrap my arms around the trunk of the tree, close my eyes, and hold on for dear life. I'm like that for minutes, maybe hours, the water soaking me to bone and making me shiver. It's not until I hear the familiar sound of wood snapping and then a swoosh, that I open my eyes.

About 100 feet from me, water begins to rush over the edge of the canyon, carrying trees with it. The far side is a mirror image as that too floods into the canyon below. When the storm ends and the sky clears, the land mass holding the Cornucopia rises back up as if nothing happened. I don't immediately make my way down. Instead, I stay right where I am, leaning my head against the trunk of the tree, and praying that I can make it to the end of this.

* * *

I spend two whole days without seeing anyone. Without seeing anything, really. I wander around aimlessly despite how much I protested the idea with Cato. I can't help it. The knots in my stomach feel like they're expanding every second, threatening to consume me. It makes it impossible to stay in one spot because a sense of dread comes over me every time I stop. Walking is the only thing that calms me. At least then I feel like I'm doing something. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realize that it's not any actual progress, but I ignore it as long as it makes me feel better.

I try to keep my mind busy as I walk under the scorching sun, trying to pretend that I don't feel the burn on my neck or the sweat on my back. It's the only way to make sure that I don't go crazy from the paranoia. I study the plants and insects, naming them as I go, reciting their symptoms. It's hardest when I run out of energy to do that because then I get stuck thinking about home. But that's not an option because it's just depressing. I usually end up counting the minutes or the days. 1, 2, 3…9. Nine days since I entered the arena. Nine days and thirteen tributes gone. Which leaves nine, or is it ten more? Ultimately I decide that it's nine, because who knows what's going on with Cato. I'm certainly not about to track him down and find out, which means I don't plan on killing him either. It's the only thought I give him because it just reminds me of how lonely and scared I am, and that only makes me mad because I shouldn't have to convince myself that it's better to be lonely than to be with Cato.

I don't get to keep counting today because the voice of Claudius Templesmith suddenly blares through the air.

"Attention. Attention, tributes."

My eyes snap to the sky even though there's nothing to see.

"As you have made it this far, we thought it was time to provide you with a special announcement. The quell stipulation allowing for a single alliance to win still stands. However, should your partner perish, the remaining tribute will receive double the benefits. That is all. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

His voice fades but I don't tear my eyes from the sky. Double the benefits. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what that means—double the reason to kill your partner. I want to scream in frustration because this can't be happening. I should have known they would pull something like this. They never wanted two victors, not after last year. There's only five of us left from outlying districts, from a district that needs those extra winnings. Every partnership is made up of at least one of us, except for Mace and Nerissa. Are they expecting us to try and claim those winnings? It would be suicide. I couldn't even if I wanted to because Cato isn't here. The thought pulls a breath of relief from my lungs. He probably would have killed me if we were together, not that he or his district needs the money or the food shipments.

District Twelve does, though. How many people could I help with this? The answer is the whole district. But that means that I have to kill Cato and I don't know if I can do that. Unless he forces me to, I don't think I can betray someone like that. Even him. Not when we can both live. If he gets himself killed though, that's a different story. I can't feel guilty about that, I reason. I have no reason to. I can't…

I sigh in frustration. I can't think about this. It doesn't matter right now because Cato isn't here, and I already know that chances are any decision I come to now will only be questioned later. So I wipe the sweat building on my forehead and keep walking and counting.

That afternoon I camp around a lagoon that I stumble upon. It's still bright out, but I can't fight the exhaustion anymore. There are a lot of trees around the water, but I don't worry about them. Despite the physical similarities between the two sides of the Cornucopia, they're actually somewhat different. The leaves aren't sharp, but there's more poison and these pits of sand that I've learned to avoid after watching a squirrel slowly sink into one.

The lagoon is much nicer than the swamp. It doesn't smell. And it's beautiful, and that means it's dangerous. It's probably not the best place to rest. I have to remind myself every few hours of Haymitch's note. 'Be smart,' it said. At the time I thought it was ridiculous, but now I get why he sent it. When you're the only one left to check your actions, you do a lot of stupid things.

The bright side to all of this is that I'm in good shape—physically, at least. I only have a couple scrapes and bruises from left from the flood, and barely any cuts from after. That has to look good to sponsors. Or at least I hope it does. There's no way of knowing what shape anyone else is in though. But I'm alive and that's all that really matters to me. Exhaustion, however, is commonplace, and now that I'm alone, I have to be particularly careful about where I sleep. Tonight, I settle for between three large rocks that make a sort of alcove against the side of the lagoon. It only takes me a few minutes to fall asleep, but I'm no better at ignoring the nightmares.

Everything is a dull color when I wake up. I can't see more than five feet in front of me. It must be some type of fog, but I can't actually make out any mist. It only looks to be getting darker by the minute. The edges of my vision are tainted with darkness, the circle of light getting smaller and smaller. At first I think it's only the fog, but fear shoots up my spine because I should be able to see something. I furiously rub the heel of my hands into my eyes, but nothing changes. I shouldn't move because it's impossible to tell what I'll run into. But that same bout of restlessness pulls at my limbs, begging me to go. I can't resist the pull. I reach for the rock beside me and pull myself up, the last of the light fading. Everything is black and I know that there wasn't any fog.

I'm not unconscious, at least I don't think I am, and the thought terrifies me. My pulse races and my legs ache as I try to decide if I should stay still or keep moving. It doesn't matter what my brain says though. My body refuses to remain in one place. The panic builds in my chest as I rub at my eyes and stumble forward. I feel like I'm suffocating on my panic. I frantically search my mind, trying to remember everything I ate or touched in the last twenty-four hours. Nothing stands out. I flinch when I hear the sound of shallow breathing, but then I realize it belongs to me.

I stumble forward another step, but there's no solid ground. My foot sinks down, and I'm in free fall for a second. Then water splashes around me, swallowing me whole. I frantically kick my feet to raise my head, gasping in air when I reach the surface. The fear of what could be lurking in the water pushes me forward. I'm a weak swimmer, my mother only gave me a few lessons before she passed, and there wasn't really a time or place to do it after that. But somehow I manage to struggle my way to solid ground. The leaves crunch beneath my feet and I have to force myself to slow down. I can't let the panic control me. That's a surefire to get myself killed.

Cool water soaks my clothes, rolling across my skin and sending a shiver down my spine despite the warmth of the day. Or is it night? The uncertainty causes a new wave of panic to wash over me. I trip over something hard. My arms shoot out instinctively, catching on the rough bark of a tree. I lean against it for a second, trying to figure out what to do. The air around me cools quickly, and my teeth begin to chatter from both the chill and the fear. I can't stand it. I just want to go home, but it feels increasingly less likely. I can't be any more vulnerable than I am right now. Anyone or anything could come to attack me and I wouldn't be able to see a thing. I wonder what would happen if I gave up now, if I just collapsed on the ground and waited for someone to come for me. It would be so easy.

And it would be weak. What am I thinking? I can't do that, not after everything I've promised. Not after I decided that I really don't want to die. The wetness of my clothing causes Amelia's bracelet to press into my skin, and I curse myself for even thinking such a thing. But I can't win blind. I have no chance. What if it's permanent? A thick lump forms in my throat, choking me and stopping the sob from leaving my mouth. I have to move. I'll breakdown if I don't.

I slowly move forward, dragging my hand along trees as I go. If I were any less afraid, I'd probably be mortified by how this looks. I'm tripping left and right, panic no doubt evident on my face. There is not a single person in Panem who can't see how weak I am right now. How vulnerable I am. I feel like it's tearing me apart—the panic—building and building until it's ripping straight through me. I wish there was someone, anyone here. They couldn't possibly do anything for me, but I'm terrified, and I don't want to be alone anymore.

I blink a few times to rid my eyes of the ache, and when I open them again, there's little dots of hazy light. They morph into silhouettes, and then it's like nothing ever happened. It's dark outside, but it's like everything is too bright. I feel dizzy, but that might be from relief. I blink rapidly, trying to sharpen the distorted images. Red lingers in the corner of my vision, turning from hazy to distinct. I look to the source, and my vision is met with a field of red. Filling the space between the trees, pressed up against every piece of bark or rock sits hundreds, maybe thousands of poppies. I take a step back and let my eyes trail over them, my lips tugging down. The flowers are closed now that it's dark. I don't remember blindness as a standard side-affect to being exposed to the flower, but I know that anything is possible in the Games.

When I've sucked enough air in to calm myself down, I leave the place behind, making a loop to the far side of the lagoon, where there were no poppies. My clothes are nearly dry, I note as I walk around the water, and I can't be anything but extremely relieved that nothing attacked me when I fell into the water. I could have easily drowned. The thought somehow manages to make me more exhausted than I was before. I never realized the toll panic could take on me not only mentally, but physically as well. I collapse against a tree in the middle of the forest, and I'm out in seconds.

* * *

I don't waste time in setting off again after waking and eating, trying to push the remaining exhaustion out of my mind. The sky remains sunny, and the unusualness of it makes me uneasy. This is the fourth day since the last storm, meaning that there should be another today. But there are no signs of bad weather. It's not a relief though, because I have little doubt that the Gamemakers have something worse in store. I don't let my mind wander to what that could be. Although it would be a distraction from the rest of my incoherent and paranoid thoughts, it would only make me worry more.

There's the boom of a cannon, and I flush in relief. Hopefully that will tide them over for the time being. I doubt it, I think bitterly, but I can hope. I keep wandering, knife gripped tightly in my hand, trying to stay as alert as possible.

It's probably the only reason I see it—a piece of black cloth sticking out from behind a tree. I squint my eyes, trying to make out the shape of it. Gingerly, I walk forward, my head swiveling left to right. There's a surge of thankfulness over the fact that I can still see, but it doesn't make me any more relaxed.

A few steps reveal that it's a backpack. It's wide open, and further inspection reveals that it's completely empty. I toss it back to the ground in frustration, but my eye catches something a few feet away.

The jacket shines brightly in the sun, but the boy lays motionless on the ground. His skin has a strange blue hue, every vein visible beneath the discolored flesh. I have no question of whether or not he's dead.

I should leave. The cannon must been for him and that means the hovercraft will be coming soon. But when I realize who he is, I stick around. Zeppina's partner is—was—an averaged sized boy from Eight. I barely remember anything about him. I let my eyes trail over him, trying to find the source of whatever killed him. There is no blood on the body, except for the small trickle coming from his nose and the corner of his mouth. It hasn't even dried yet, so he couldn't have died long ago. It's easy to tell that he was killed by poison; the veiny, blue flesh is a distinct feature of kennelspur. It's one of the most poison plants out there, but it's unmistakable—even to those with little knowledge of plants. His bloodshot eyes stare at me from the ground, and I can practically feel the excruciating death. It takes two days to kill, but the moment it's in your system, you know. Your blood begins to thin as your throat closes and your lungs stop working.

I can't bear to look at his eyes a moment down, I slide them shut, but my hand freezes when I see his neck. The underside of the flesh is just as blue as the rest of his skin, but there's a small puncture mark rimmed nearly black. It's clear that it's the source, and I immediately pull my hand back to avoid touching any remnants of the poison. I don't know what could do that. A stinger, maybe? There's no time to think about it further though because the sound of the aircraft reaches my ears and I know it's time to go.

The only other thought I have before leaving the area is of what happened to Zeppina. My eyes land on the empty backpack. I shake my head and keep moving. Wherever she is, I hope it's not close. I really want to go home, but I don't want to be the one to kill her.

* * *

The rest of the day follows without incident, but when I wake in the morning, I feel even lonelier than before. It's too quiet, even with the sounds of the forest. I've never had a problem with silence before. It's something I've gotten used to over the years. Without Amelia and my mother, the house is always quiet. My father and I are rarely there at the same time, and even if we are, I try to avoid conversation with him. That's how it's been for my entire life, and he doesn't make much of an effort to change that. And after I started working with Mr. Fairbain, and Mabel and I drifted apart, I became used to passing the time in silence no matter where I was.

I used to relish the solitude, in being able to pretend for at least a little while that everything was normal. But I know that the silence will never feel the same to me again. Every sound that breaks the quiet will make me panic and my mind will be filled with images of what I've seen and done. It will only remind me of how alone I really am, how alone the Games have made me. I hate that the Capitol has taken this from me too.

It's one of the worst things I've ever experienced—the feeling of not being safe in my own head. I didn't think I'd ever be in the position of envying Careers, but I was wrong. I'm constantly wrong. For a brief moment, I wish I were just like them. I wish that I could kill people without caring, that I didn't feel guilty or scared or paranoid. I wish I didn't feel so weak, because really that's all I felt these last few days. Weak and alone.

But I can't let myself feel like that if I want to win. And I do.

I repeat the thought to myself as I walk. I have enough food left over from the morning, so I don't bother stopping. I need to find some type of cover though because the heat is sweltering today, and I've seen more animals wandering around than any of the previous days. Maybe a part of me thinks that finding shelter will make me feel more secure. Less vulnerable. So that's what I do all morning and into the early afternoon.

I stumble into them, really—a line of caves about a half-mile from the lagoon. There are three of them sitting on the cliff that overlooks the area. Standing on top of the rocks, I can see down to the forest below, the trees thinner and the brush more sparse. Behind the rocks is a different story though. The forest is too thick to see through, and it looks like no light touches it. I turn back to the caves, realizing that only one of them is really feasible as shelter. It's dark and a bit humid inside the rocky area, but it's well hidden from the outside, which is the best thing I can get. I won't stay more than a day though, I decide. It's playing it too safe, and I know it would only make me a target. I let out a small sigh as I lean back against the rock wall, praying that this will be over soon.

I wake far sooner than I'd like. Still delirious with sleep, I frown at the noises coming from outside the cave. A loud crack echoes around the area, the whole thing practically shaking with the force. I blink lazily at the hard sounds resounding throughout the arena. It's raining, I realize when I've cleared enough of the sleep away. Wind howls all around me. I'm glad I decided to take shelter, and I wish more than anything that I could just stay here and wait the Games out. Maybe if I weren't so paranoid I would try. It doesn't matter, I think, as my eyes slide shut again. Here or anywhere else: I'm always in danger.

* * *

Silence meets my ears when I wake a second time. When I step out of the cave, I feel a wave of frustration. The dark forest looks closer— bigger—than before. But even though the Gamemakers can control the arena, I don't think they can do that, which means that I'm really just that paranoid.

The forest below is a disaster. There's a crack in the ground, trees collapsed on top of one another and strewn about. In the end, I decide to head to the dark forest, even though the knots in my stomach twist painfully at the thought. The area below looks impossible to navigate, so I don't think I have much of a choice.

I set off towards the thick forest behind the caves, but it's difficult. The ground is nothing but mud. I sink in with every step, and it takes a lot of my energy just to make it to the tree line. I half expect to be swallowed whole. Of course, the thought actually causes me to freak out, because it's a real possibility.

My mouth is like sandpaper after no more than an hour, and I completely regret coming here. The vines are nowhere in sight. The only noticeable water source in this place is the drops of sweat dripping from my forehead and down my neck. But I need something to drink, and so I find myself struggling up another tree. It's embarrassing how long it takes me to get to the top, and I'm only met with disappointment when I do. I see no water when I scan over the area. I'm so frustrated by the time I reach the ground, that I barely pay attention to anything around me. It's not until a knife whizzes past my head and lodges itself in a tree that I'm aware of my surroundings. I stumble back into the trunk, frantically searching for the source. It isn't hard to find.

I stand there dumbly, trying to understand what I'm seeing. Two people slash away at each other, their grunts filling the air. One boy swings a sword wildly, and I snap out of my trance, but I still don't move.

It's Cato, I know it is, but he doesn't look like himself. He stumbles to the side when the boy jabs a trident towards him, barely dodging the attack. He is nothing like the boy I saw on the arena footage or in the training center. He's slow and off balance, red dripping from somewhere on his chest, and it's clear that something is wrong with him. I still don't move, struggling between running away from here or stepping in to help. I could die, and there's the rule change to think about. He can handle himself—even with something wrong.

I see a shift from the corner of my eye and my gaze snaps to the left. There's a boy stepping through the trees and then a flash of a spear, and a surge of something in me. I don't understand the feelings that overcome me when I see what's happening. Being alone for days on end has left me unguarded in this moment, not thinking straight and unprepared for this. I hear a clash of metal and it's almost overwhelming—the thoughts of alone and home, the accompanying swell of desperation and anger. My pulse thrums heavily along with the beat of my heart, and my feet are moving before my head comprehends my actions. It's not until I collide with something solid, a resounding oomph filling the air that I realize I've made my decision.

We fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs. He thrashes beneath me, throwing me to the side. I roll away to stand, but he grabs my foot, sending me back down. I kick my free leg out, and he cries out in pain. I scramble away from him, and then were both on our feet facing each other. He throws a glance to the spear he was holding. It's at least ten feet away—too far for him to get.

He's has a knife just like I do. Both of us grip it tightly, watching the other warily. There's a grunt of pain somewhere to my right and my eyes flicker for just a second before I catch myself, but it's too late. The boy runs at me, and I fall onto my back. It's the perfect opportunity to attack, but he isn't smart. He moves towards the spear beside me, and I reach over, stabbing the knife into his calf. He cries out, and I get back up as he stumbles against the tree.

I have to kill him. It's the only thought in my head. He's distracted enough by the stab wound in his leg for me to look over to the other fight. I look just in time to see Cato stab the boy in the shoulder. The boy I'm fighting straightens, and I turn my gaze back. He's bigger than me by about a half foot, and definitely stronger. I strengthen the grip on my knife, raising it up. The longer this fight goes on, the less chance I have.

He lunges for me and I let the knife fly. He stops moving and gasps before falling down. The knife sticks out from his chest, lodged within the flesh. I stare blankly as he falls back against the tree, gasping. I walk forward as he pulls it out, red blooming across his beige shirt. It's obvious that he'll die from the wound. I think I've hit a lung, because he's coughing, blood leaking from his mouth.

I kneel next to him, picking up the discarded knife. I'm more disgusted, more horrified with death, and the Games, and myself than I've ever been. I plunge the knife forward. It is a thousand times harder than the previous ones, and yet I do it with less hesitation than before.

I am a monster. But for right now, I pretend it's bravery. I pretend that everything about this isn't wrong.

I have to.

A cannon booms for him, and I stumble back, pushing myself away from the body. I forget where I am for a second as I try to calm my breathing. The air is filled with silence, and I jolt to my feet, frantically searching for Cato. He's easy to spot, leaning heavily against a tree not too far away. The boy with the trident is gone, so there's no one but us and the boy I killed. I take a step towards Cato, and his arms shoots up in response. The sword wavers in his grip, and even from this distance, I can tell that his eyes are unfocused. His shirt is torn and soaked in his own blood. I can already tell that he's losing too much. I take a few steps closer, raising my hands up in a gesture of submission.

"It's me, Cato," I say.

For a second I don't think he hears me, but then he stumbles a step forward. The sword drops and then he brings it up again.

"What did you say?" he asks. I think he's going for threatening, but his voice is scratchy, like he's having trouble getting air in his lungs.

"It's me. Briar."

"Twelve?" he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Yes," I say, taking another step closer.

"What…" he stops speaking, swaying on the spot. "What are you doing here?"

I ignore his question, glancing down at the blood soaking his clothing. I don't step any closer though, not while he has the sword. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he tells me just as he sways again and begins coughing, falling back against the tree. His sword drops from his hand, and I advance quickly as he starts sinking to the ground.

"Cato?"

He looks in my direction, but his eyes are hazy. This close to him, I notice what I didn't before. His skin has a blueish tint to it, and I know it's bad. Whether or not it's from the blood loss or the poison, Cato is dying.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **Oh NO! NOT CATO, but yes, Cato. What's Briar going to do now? How did Cato end up like this?**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Spiders are the worst, which is why I picked them. And thanks! I've finished up now, so hopefully no more interruptions.**

 **WhiteEevee: haha, they're always super grossed out about her cooking, that's for sure. I'm glad you liked the section on Tilver! It took me a while to figure out how to show that side of his character, but I'm glad it turned out okay.**

 **FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: I understand, Cato is very polarizing and we all know where Briar tends to fall on that spectrum. The only question is what will she do now?**

 **Thanks again guys. I really, really appreciate all the reviews because they make all the effort worth it. Let me know what you guys think!**


	24. Chapter 23: Neutral Ground

**Chapter 23: Neutral Ground**

"Cato?"

No response.

Fear stirs deep in my stomach as I take another tentative step closer. "Cato?" I ask again.

His eyes are closed as he lies in a heap on the ground. Shakily, I raise my hand up, pressing two fingers against his neck. His pulse is thready at best, but it's there. I can practically hear the voices of Haymitch and my district yelling at me to leave him, but I can't. Blood loss or poison, they're both terrible ways to die, and I just can't let that happen. Not after the risk I just took. I don't let myself think about the why.

I stay crouched on the ground in front of him, staring. He suddenly snaps his head up, and I jolt backwards.

"Twelve?" he coughs out, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, and a sense of urgency takes over me.

"Yes. Can you move?" I ask, grabbing the sword and sticking it in my belt.

"Of course," he says. It's not convincing when he tries and falls back into the tree.

He starts coughing again, and I don't have time to be careful around him anymore. I stand up and grab his arm to pull him up. He tries to yank it back, but the attempt is weak and my grip is strong.

"You need help, Cato."

"No." More coughing. "No, I don't."

I ignore the comment and pull the large arm around my shoulder. He staggers a little, pulling me to the side, but the tree stops us from toppling over. He's not completely unconscious because he's standing on his own, but he's definitely out of it. I don't have time to think about where to go, so I head to the only place where I know there's shelter: the cave.

We move slowly because the ground is still slippery and Cato can barely hold his own weight. He mumbles barely coherent protests the whole way, but he doesn't try to pull away from me. Or if he does, it's too weak for me to feel it. I can feel his blood beginning to soak my clothes and I have to stop from gagging. He'll bleed out soon, and so I pull him along faster. I'm exhausted. Cato is probably twice my weight, and he isn't helping much. I don't slow down though, and I don't relax until we break the tree line and I see the caves.

I drag him inside, and try to place him down gently, but he's too heavy and ends up collapsing. I wince, but he can't see me because he's unconscious again. For a second I panic about the maggots invading all of his wounds, but then I remember that the ground is made of rock not dirt. My pulse thrums loudly in my ears as I frantically search over him, trying to decide what to do. His skin is still blue, but I can't see the veins yet, and so I know I have some time before the poison kills him. His shirt, on the other hand, sticks to his chest, nearly black with blood.

I crouch next to him, slicing the shirt open with one of my knives. I gag at the sight. Red sticks to every inch of skin, but I can't focus on anything but the gaping wound in his side—three perfectly symmetrical gashes with blood rushing out. The muscle shifts in the openings and bile rises in my throat. The boy hit a major blood vessel, and if I don't close it, Cato will die. And there's only one way to do that in here.

I rush out of the cave, back in minutes with enough twigs to start a fire. When it's lit, I stick one of my knives into the flame, praying that it will work quickly. Tearing a piece of cloth from the bottom of my shirt, I wipe up the blood from Cato's chest, but red liquid continues to leak from his side. I try to keep pressure on Cato's wound as the blade heats, ignoring the warm liquid coating my hands. I've never done this before, and my heart lodges in my throat when I pull the glowing knife from the fire. I could kill him, but he'll die if I don't try. After only a second of hesitation, I take the knife and press it into the wound, hoping that I've managed to stem the flow from the blood vessel. I gag and pull it back after a few seconds, and then repeat the action. My eyes flicker to his face, but it remains impassive. I'm thankful that he's so out of it, because I can't even begin to imagine how painful this must be.

The air smells of burnt flesh when I'm done, the wound is a large black mark on Cato's skin. I kneel back in relief when it stays closed and no blood spills out. He's alive— _for now_. I still have the poison to worry about, and there's a good chance the wound will get infected. But I can worry about that if it comes to it. The poison is more important at the moment.

There's the sound of beeping from outside and I'm on my feet in seconds. I'm careless when I step out of the cave and grab the parachute, but I barely notice. All I can think about is making sure he doesn't die—making sure that this wasn't all for nothing. I ignore the large 2 on the side and pop it open when I'm back beside Cato. It's not like he can do this himself. Inside is a small bottle, a blanket, and a canister filled with clear goo. It's basically a survival kit, and for the first time, I realize just how badly the Capitol wants someone like Cato to win. I open the lid of the bottle, the sickly sweet scent reaching my nose right away. I place it on the ground, and pull out the little slip of paper.

 _Needs to drink all. Wait a few hours and apply the gel.- D_

I swallow heavily when I read over the note a second time, my eyes focusing on the letter at the end. Demetrius sent this. Demetrius is asking me to save his brother. I could ignore it, pay him back for what he took from me. I think about it. It feels wrong. We're all just trying to survive. Besides, I already saved Cato's life, what would be the point in killing him now?

I shake Cato's shoulder, trying not to jostle him too much, but it's hard because he won't wake up. I can feel myself panicking, but then his eyes open a little. They're glazed over, but he's awake and that's all I need.

"You need to drink this."

He just blinks at me, and then his eyes start sliding shut again. There's no time for this.

"Sorry," I mumble, before opening his mouth and pouring the liquid down.

He starts sputtering, and for a second I'm afraid he's going to spit it out. It's pure instinct, the way I reach my hand out to cover his mouth so that he can't spit it up. And then I'm terrified that he's going to choke. But he doesn't spit any of it up, and a few seconds later he's gasping, but no longer gurgling the liquid. I sigh in relief, and this time, I let him slip back into unconsciousness.

The adrenaline within my body wears off rapidly, and I'm just about ready to pass out too. But I can't. Not with Cato out of commission. So I stomp out the fire and lean back against a wall, and try not to think about everything that just happened.

It becomes harder to ignore as the hours tick by. The thoughts refuse to leave my head. I killed another person—another tribute who probably didn't want to be here any more than I do. _Stop it._ Nothing good can come from thinking like this. It'll just pull me down and keep me there, and then I'll never go home.

But I can't think about that either because I'm afraid of what they'll think of me. Having been in the arena for so long, I now understand what Katniss meant when she said that being more than mediocre with a weapon wouldn't matter. I guess the funny thing about surviving is that it's based on so many things, not just skill. No matter how much you train, it all comes down to one thing: you have to want it. Really want it. You have to be willing to do whatever it takes. And the thing is, you never really know if someone—if you—are capable of that until something forces you to find out. And I've been forced.

 _Four_. The number of people I've killed. The number of times I've proven just how badly I want to survive. The number of times I've shown what I'm capable of.

The idea scares me, and I search for anything to distract me from the line of thought. It comes in the form of the Capitol anthem. I step out of the cave to watch the faces. It's just the boy I killed—a boy from Ten.

I make my way back inside, not pleased with what I find. I don't know how I missed it before, but Cato is shaking on the floor, and when I crawl over, I can see sweat building on his brow. I frown, trying to find the reason for it. The only thing I find is a small puncture in the back of his neck, the rim dark. My first thought is of Zeppina, and her dead partner with the same mark and the same poisoning, but then I shake my head and move on because there isn't time to think about that.

He's burning up but he's shivering. The note said to wait a few hours before applying the goo, but I'm too worried to wait any longer. Picking up a generous amount, I start spreading the gel over the various cuts that litter Cato's body. His stomach, his chest, his temple—they're everywhere. Thankfully most of them aren't that bad. None of them seem infected, but that wouldn't happen so fast, and so I'm still confused as to what's making him so sick. But then I remember the gel Haymitch sent me, the pain as it burned the rash off of my skin. Maybe this is the same: the liquid from the bottle washing the poison out of his system. I can only hope though, because I have no idea how to cure kennelspur poisoning.

Even with the blanket, Cato doesn't stop shivering. I decide to light the fire again, despite the risk. Despite the fact that I don't understand why I'm doing any of this. Maybe I'm finally losing it, I think to myself as I get the flame going. Being alone for days in this place has made me lose my mind. There's no other explanation. Not for what came over me—the surge of anger and fear—and not for my actions now. Yes, I must be crazy. It's the only explanation. At least the only one I'm willing to admit to.

I remember telling Peeta that anger isn't the only thing in the arena that can cause people to do irrational things. I had no idea how right that was.

I move away from Cato and the fire, and settle back against the wall. I check on him every hour or so, just to make sure that he hasn't died, which is pointless, because I would hear a cannon. Eventually, I get too tired to do that, and sleep pulls me under despite how much I try to resist.

I wake in a panic later. Everything is the same as it was before, though, and so I decide it's okay to let myself relax a little. It's what I do until the sun rises the next morning: nap, check on Cato, and repeat.

When the next afternoon rolls around, I'm still in the same position. I sit with my back against the hard rock wall, my knees pulled to my chest as I keep watch. My knife stays within my reach, just in case. I still don't know where any of the other tributes are, and with Cato still injured, I can't afford to be caught off guard.

For the most part the cave is silent. The only sounds are the rustling of the brush from the wind outside and the crackling of the fire. The cave is warm thanks to the flame that I've kept going since yesterday, almost to the point of being uncomfortable. The weather pattern has switched to the colder season, thankfully. It means air is cooler and less humid than it's been since entering the arena, but I'm still sweating. Despite the heat and the danger it brings, I keep the fire going. Cato finally stopped shivering early this morning, and I don't want to take any risks. He needs to recover. I can't do this on my own.

 _I don't know if I want to._ The thought comes unbidden to my mind, but I can't deny it. Especially not after how I reacted when I stumbled upon Cato and those other tributes. The longer I'm in the arena, the more I'm unable to comprehend how anyone manages to survive this on their own. If I can get another person out of this arena, then I'm going to try my best, regardless of who it is. My self-preservation instincts protest the idea, but looking at Cato's sleeping form, I'm able to shut the objections out. Sure, Cato's arrogant, impulsive, and angry on a good day—capable of being a jerk pretty much all of time—but in some weird way, it's been nice having him around, even if it's just so I don't have to be alone. It's difficult to admit even to myself, and I know I won't be saying any of this to him anytime soon—even if it is the truth.

Despite my attempts to convince myself otherwise, I know it's not because I've lost my mind. I already know what the real reason is. I already know that it's because of the Games and what they do to people. Before the arena, I would have dismissed Cato completely: his District Two breeding too repulsive to deal with and his personality not much better. And I would have never questioned my dismissal. But that's different now. Now, my mind craves something to hold onto, some type of human connection, and Cato just so happens to be the person I've latched onto.

 _It could be worse,_ I tell myself. Having spent so much time with Mace and Nerissa, I know that there are far worse people out there. Cato isn't as bad as he seemed originally, especially for a Career. There have been some hints of a person underneath the shell of brutality. Still, the thought of coming to rely on him in any way at all makes me nervous, but I can't pretend it isn't there anymore. What reason would I have had to save him then? If some small part of me didn't think that I need him, if not only for winning, I wouldn't have ever risked my life for him. It's not something I ever wanted, or could have even imagined when I saw him on the Reaping, but I just have to accept it now. My actions prove to me, and all of Panem, that I've already made my decision. I try not to think about how others see this. I just have to trust that I'm not making the same mistake that Amelia did.

With a sigh, I turn my gaze to the boy occupying my thoughts. Scanning over his face quickly, I determine that he's doing much better than he was a few hours ago. He's no longer shaking, and his face shows no traces of pain. It's also lost its blue tint, which is a huge relief. I never paid much attention to how he looked other than noticing his overwhelming presence, but looking at him now, I can see why the people in the Capitol are going crazy for him. He's attractive, one of the best looking out of the tributes, which is saying something considering how good-looking some of them are. His face is handsome, and decidedly less hard in his sleep.

Heat rises to my cheeks when I realize that I'm staring at him, and I look away quickly. I don't want to think about how this looks on camera. It makes my blood rush even quicker.

I remember how girls my age used to look at the boys from Twelve. Most of them were daydreaming about one guy or another, giggling and blushing whenever they saw them. A lot of the girls liked Gale. He's strong and attractive just like Cato. His personality isn't much better, though, just less murderous. It makes me think that girls at home would go crazy for Cato if he weren't from District Two. _Some of them probably still would._ I don't know how anyone can worry about romance with everything that goes on, though. It amazes me even more that Katniss and Peeta made it out of the arena alive with something so distracting between them.

Even with how embarrassed I am, I catalogue the changes I see on Cato's sleeping form. It leaves me once again marveling over the medicine that the sponsors sent. There are very few redeeming traits of the Capitol, but this is one of them. If they could get stuff that's even a quarter as powerful to the districts… I can't even imagine how many lives that would save. It wouldn't even make their list of minor priorities though. Snow would rather us starve to death or die from some curable sickness than save someone from an outlying district.

Anger flares in me at the thought of the president, but I stamp it down. I have other things to worry about at the moment, like the boy who's waking up.

Cato opens his eyes slowly before they suddenly snap open, his hand shooting out and reaching to the side. I assume it's for his sword, which is currently sitting beside me, out of his reach for precisely this reason. He grunts in pain at the action and whips his head in my direction, apparently sensing another presence. Even through the fire, I can tell that his eyes are a little glossed over as he struggles to survey his surroundings. His gaze lands on me after a moment, a mixture of emotion—something that looks surprisingly similar to relief—overcoming his features.

"Briar?"

The use of my real name catches me off guard for a moment, as does the quiet, confused tone of his voice. I wasn't even sure he _knew_ my name, seeing as he hasn't addressed me as anything other than "Twelve." He must still be pretty out of it if he's using it now.

He continues to stare at me, like he's not sure I'm actually here, and I realize that I have yet to reply to him. I send him a small nod and say, "Yeah, it's me."

Slowly, he sits up. His brow furrows, and I can tell that he's trying to remain emotionless, to not show any pain. Maybe he's not as out of it as I thought. Either that or his training is that deeply ingrained. I go with the second one. I mentally applaud him on his effort to remain impassive because I got a firsthand look at how bad is injuries are. I stuck a burning knife into his skin to keep him from bleeding out. Even if he's not sick anymore, I'm sure the pain from all his wounds is still there and going strong. Even Capitol medicine doesn't work that fast.

"How long was I asleep?" His voice is rough from lack of use. I really need to get more water.

"About a day and a half."

"Where are we?" he asks as he looks around the small area.

"A cave," I tell him. "Off the side of the forest. It's not far, but our options were limited. It was hard enough to get you this far."

I internally curse myself for speaking so quickly. I'm already jumping to defend myself because precedent tells me that he has a problem with pretty much everything I do. But he doesn't even yell me for my lack of caution. It's even more surprising considering there's a fire burning not five feet from him. He should be berating me for how reckless I am, but instead he turns his body to look at me straight on. I can see the intensity on his face through the flickering light of the fire. I stay silent, waiting for him to speak. He does after a moment.

"What happened?" he asks, his voice gaining back some of its usual authority. It's somewhat of relief, but I still feel nervous.

I swallow, trying to think of a way to explain that won't make him angry. I don't know if he'll take too kindly to knowing that he actually needed my help after all. This is different than skinning an animal or picking some berries. Saving his life or not, I know Cato isn't fond of looking weak, and needing help from someone from District Twelve…

"You were poisoned by something. There's a small puncture wound in your neck, but it was before I found you," I say. I don't tell him that I think Zeppina is to thank for it.

He shakes his head slightly, glancing down at his arm. "It was a dart of some sort." He shakes his head and continues before I have a chance to comment. "But what happened after that? How did you find me?"

"You don't remember?" I ask.

He remains silent for a moment, looking unsure of whether or not he should answer, but after a minute he answers with a shake of his head and a short, "No."

"Anything? It's just blank after you got poisoned?"

"Yes," he bites back. "Now what happened?"

I assumed he was asking about how we ended up here in the cave, but does he really have no idea what happened? It makes me feel extremely lucky that this turned out as well as it did. He could have killed me and apparently wouldn't have even remembered doing it.

"I was hiding out, and I heard fighting. I was going to leave, but uh, I noticed it was you. You looked like you could use some help," I say tentatively. "I know you can handle yourself," I jump to say when he opens his mouth to argue, "but you seemed out of it, thanks to the poison and whatnot. You were fighting with the boy from Four, and his partner was there, but you didn't notice."

He scowls at that and falls silent, clearly not liking the situation. I'm sure he's afraid of coming off weak to the sponsors and the people from his district. I don't think he did. He held up well against the guy, despite being unable to walk straight, but I know that makes no difference to him. He's made it pretty clear that they don't tolerate any sort of weakness, and not being invincible is definitely viewed as one. I don't think there's anything wrong with getting some help, especially considering the circumstances, but Cato's proved time and time again that he doesn't think the way I do.

When he seems to get over whatever internal dialogue he's having with himself, he turns his gaze back to me and says, "That doesn't explain how we ended up here. What else?"

I roll my eyes at his demanding tone but continue. "His partner was sneaking up on you, so I, uh, I helped."

" _Helped_?" he asks with an arch of his eyebrows.

I nod. "Yeah, I helped you. Does that come as such a surprise? You were cornered and didn't even know it. Maybe you could have beaten Four, but Ten had a spear and was too close. He would have gotten you before you ever realized what happened. So I got him out of the way."

He looks slightly taken aback by my comment, his brows furrowing and his mouth setting itself into a firm line. "You got him out of the way," he says slowly, like he can't comprehend the idea. I merely nod. "He's dead?" Another nod. "What about Murrow?" He clarifies when he notices my confused look, "The kid from Four."

"I don't know. I only heard one cannon. But by the looks of it, you got him pretty good in the side. There was a lot of blood in a little amount of time, so unless he gets some medicine, I doubt he'll last much longer."

I internally cringe at my words. They sound so careless. I'm talking about him the same way I'd talk about a piece of meat that's gone bad in the butcher's shop—like he's expiring instead of dying. Like he's not a human being. It's amazing how quickly these Games can get to you. When I think about it like that, the person I was before the Games starts to bubble up to the surface. Somewhere inside me is the girl who came into these Games petrified of what she might see, a girl who would have protested the violence and everything the Capitol is trying to turn the tributes into. But she's quickly becoming overshadowed by the girl who realizes that fear drives people to do terrible, awful things—things that will haunt them for the rest of their life, even if they know that there was no other way. So I allow myself only a second of remorse for my callous words before I push the guilt away.

The expression on Cato's face at my words is not one of regret like I feel, but rather one of complete and utter confusion. I don't know what's so unclear about what I've said, but he seems unable to understand it. Maybe the poison is still affecting him.

The silence is beginning to make me uncomfortable, especially when Cato turns his confused gaze to me. His face morphs into something much more intense, and the cave suddenly feels too small. I can't seem to tear my own eyes away though, no matter how much I try to force myself to. My stomach clenches uncomfortably with the growing tension. Cato searches my face for something, and I'm helpless to do anything but stare back.

Finally he speaks, his voice still confused, but softer than I've ever heard it. "Why?" he asks.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Why what?"

"Why did you save me?" he asks. "You could have gotten yourself killed, and I don't think it's a secret that we don't get along."

"So what? You're my partner, aren't you? I wasn't just going to leave you there to die," I say. I hope more than anything that he drops the conversation with that, but I'm in no such luck.

"The rule change. You could win more for your district without me. And it's not like they couldn't use it. Why come back?"

I ignore the comment about my district because I know that it's not meant to offend me. For all intents and purposes, he's right. "I helped you because as I just told you, you're my—"

"Don't say it's because I'm your partner," he practically growls. "You didn't _help_ me. You saved my life."

I open my mouth to say something, but no noise comes out. My mind's blank and the air catches in my throat. Mainly because I'm surprised he admitted it out loud, for everyone to hear. Yes, I saved his life. I risked my life to save him. Why? Because I didn't want him to die. _I_ don't _want him to die_. I don't want to be alone. Even though I think the words, I don't dare speak them. An incomprehensible fear comes over me when I think of admitting that to him, so I just stare back, floundering for some sort of answer.

Cato speaks again before I have time to struggle my way through an explanation. "After everything… You hate me. Ever since I volunteered and you learned who I was. Why would you save me?"

It's the quietness of his tone, and the way he looks away from me as he speaks—staring into the fire as if it holds all the answers to his questions—that has my chest tightening painfully and emotion lodging itself in my throat. For once Cato doesn't sound like the brutal killing machine that I once believed him to be, nor the arrogant Career I've come to know. Now he sounds like the boy he is, the boy he maybe could have been without the Games. I realize that he's genuinely confused by my actions, that he can't comprehend why I would go out of my way to help him merely because of who he is, because of who he's related to. He's been taught that anger is the only necessary emotion in the Games, that any other type of attachment is dangerous—yet I've somehow managed to push past it in order to save him. For a moment, I actually hurt for the boy in front of me, because the Capitol has made humanity unrecognizable to him.

It's the uncomfortable tightness I feel that drives me to tell him the truth. I lock eyes with him, trying to convey the sincerity of what I'm about to say.

"I don't hate you, Cato," I say quietly. "And I didn't want you to die."

The silence that falls between us is suffocating. I don't breathe until he speaks again.

"That doesn't make any sense, though. You made it pretty clear that—"

"I'm allowed to change my mind, aren't I? Things have changed."

"What things?"

It's a good question. _What things, exactly?_ I know that they have, but why? Why am I suddenly saving the life of a Career, someone connected to Amelia's death? Why would I risk it in the arena?

That's exactly why. The arena. The Games _._

I can't look him in the eye, so I turn my gaze to the flickering light as I speak. "I don't hate you or your brother, Cato. Coming into the Games I did … or at least I thought I did. But being here, it changes things. I hated your brother for what he did to my sister. And I hated you because of it. I doubt I'll ever forgive him, but being in the arena… I can at least understand _why_ he did it. And I can't fault him for it, especially when I'm doing the same thing to other people. And I just…I've realized something that I didn't— _couldn't_ —have understood before."

"What?".

"He let Amelia die as herself, and sometimes, in here, I think that's better," I say, finally gathering the courage to meet Cato's gaze again. I'm glad it's dark so he can't see how glassy my eyes have become. "Had she gone further, if she was really going to win, she would have had to kill someone, and that's just… it wasn't her. Sometimes I wish it was, because then maybe she'd still be alive, but then I remember what she was like and…. Your brother didn't force her to become a killer, to become something she wasn't. He didn't make her beg for life, and he didn't draw out her death. He gave her what little mercy there is in the arena, and I can't hate either of you for that."

I shift awkwardly in the silence that falls around us. Cato's gaze on me is unyielding and impossible to read. I feel vulnerable. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. It was too personal. This is just going to make everything worse. Now he's going to think that I—

"Thank you," he says.

I stare unblinkingly at the boy before me, my brain unable to process what just happened. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the words weren't in my head. It leaves me floundering for a response, my mind not comprehending this unexpected turn of events. In all the scenarios I imagined, I never expected Cato to thank me. I had assumed his arrogance would get in the way. But he's proving my assumptions wrong, like he's been slowly doing throughout the entire arena. Maybe there is a human in there after all.

Instead of speaking, I opt to give him a small nod in response. I don't trust my voice after talking about Amelia, and I can tell that showing gratitude is rare and uncomfortable for Cato, and so I don't drag the conversation out. His shoulders sag in relief, and I know that I've made the right decision for both of us.

The sound of beeping draws both of our attention away from the charged atmosphere. Neither of us moves for a moment as the sound drifts into the cave. Cato glances at me with a raised eyebrow before looking himself over, indicating his current state.

"I'll get it," I say as I roll my eyes and stand up, grabbing the knife from beside me. There's no malice in my act though. I'm just glad whatever that weird emotional moment we just had has passed.

I scan the area over quickly when I reach the mouth of cave. It'd be a shame to make it this far only to die by some sneak attack while I try to get a sponsor gift. Satisfied that there's no one lying in wait, I grab the parachute with a large two on it and return to the rocky shelter.

I almost toss the container over to Cato, before realizing that he's too bundled up and probably still too tired to catch it. The thought of throwing it and hitting him in the head when he fails to catch it makes me snicker lightly as I hand the canister over.

"What?" he asks with a raised brow as he takes it from me.

I snicker again, and shake my head. "Nothing."

Cato makes a small noise in the back of his throat, but doesn't ask again. I settle back into my spot as he pops the lid open, the savory smell intermingling with the scent of the fire. They've sent him food, that much I can tell. It makes me all the more aware of how long it's been since I've eaten anything of real substance, and I shift uncomfortably with the hunger pains in my stomach.

"Did all of this come from sponsors?" Cato asks, effectively snapping me out of my hunger-induced distraction.

"Yup," I say jerking my head towards the medicine that rests a little ways away from him. "I guess they really didn't want you to die."

Cato chooses to ignore that comment, and instead glances towards the medicine. His eyes narrow slightly at the sight of it. "That's high grade stuff. That bad?" he asks in a gruff voice. His dissatisfaction is practically tangible.

Heat rushes to my cheeks when images from earlier flash through my mind. I try to shove the embarrassment away. He's going to learn about it sooner or later.

 _I prefer later._

"The poison was bad. It was from a kennelspur flower. Most of the cuts were shallow except for one from the trident. It cut through some of the muscle. It bled… a lot," I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady. I'm doing a terrible job.

Cato sends me a strange look before moving the blanket off of himself.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking the injuries. What does it look like I'm doing?"

I flounder for a moment, the heat in the cave only making the burn in my cheeks worse. It makes me thankful for the darkness. "Oh," is all I manage to say after a moment.

I sit and watch silently as Cato begins to inspect his wounds, my stomach twisting with anxiety as I wait for him to notice.

He makes a move to turn to his side, a painful grunt falling from his lips. He glances down towards his stomach with a frown, inspecting the source of the pain.

I can't help but look over the injury. It's red and jagged, but it looks enormously better than it did yesterday when I finished sealing it. I'm filled with mild relief. Cato, on the other hand, looks to be filled with a mixture of emotions as he glances over the numerous small cuts and the large wound on his side. After a moment he turns to me, a smirk twitching at his lips.

"Your work?"

The heat rushes back to my cheeks, but I try to play it off. There's no reason to feel uncomfortable. I just did it to save his life, dammit. "Yeah, that was, uh… that one was the worst."

"I hope you didn't look too long," he says. "Taking advantage of me in my weakened state." And just like that my embarrassment is gone. Who knew he could joke.

I roll my eyes at him, and send him an unamused look. "Oh yeah, not looking at your chest was definitely my first priority when I was cauterizing your wound so that you didn't bleed to death."

" _Cauterizing_?" he asks, glancing back down at the wound. "Where the hell did you learn how to do that?"

"Strictly speaking?... I've never actually done it," I answer, my cheeks getting red again. I don't even know why I'm embarrassed this time. "I saw it done once in Twelve, after a miner cut his leg open."

"You've never done it before? And you've only seen it once?" he asks incredulously.

"Well, no, I haven't but I didn't have much of a choice. He cut open a major blood vessel. It was either that or let you bleed out."

"You're lucky you didn't set the wound on fire with no experience," he responds.

I didn't even know that could happen, so maybe I am lucky. Not that I'm about to tell him that.

"Don't you mean _you're_ lucky?"

I close my mouth quickly, unsure of how he'll respond to my comment. He raises an eyebrow, and I think I see his lips twitch slightly, but I can't be sure. It's probably just a flicker of the fire. But then I know it's not because Cato just chuckles at my discomfort and goes back to his food. He inspects it for a moment before pulling a spoon out and eating it. Soup it is then.

The gnawing in my stomach returns, and I shift in an effort to quell to pain and the sounds. I need to get food, but I can't leave Cato here alone. He seems like he's doing better, but he was half dead no more than twelve hours ago. If he really was feeling better, we would be on the move right now.

"When was the last time you ate?"

I glance up at Cato, my brows furrowing slightly.

"Why?" I ask, briefly wondering if he can read my mind.

"Because I can hear your stomach growling over the fire. Here," he says, extending his arm out to me.

"What is it?" I ask, glancing suspiciously at the contents in his hand.

He rolls his eyes. "It's just bread."

"I'm fine," I say before I have time to think it through. I should really just take the food.

"Seriously? I didn't think you were in the habit of passing up food."

I narrow my eyes slightly, but I'm too hungry to really be offended by the comment. Besides, he's not wrong.

I get up and grab the bread from him. "Thanks," I say as I collapse back onto the ground.

I feel like I've landed in an alternate universe. Cato being nice. Us actually getting along. It's too weird. Not that I would trade it for what we had before. At least right now, I'm not afraid he's going to kill me.

"Where's my sword?" Cato asks, breaking the silence.

"You dropped it. I took it. I didn't want to accidently get stabbed," I say, only half joking.

He stares at me for a second, and then says, "Can I have it back?"

"Are you sure… I mean, are you okay?" I only ask because he can't seem to keep his eyes open for more than a couple seconds.

He grunts as he shifts to look at me and I raise an eyebrow in his direction. "Is there still an extra shirt in the backpack?" he asks. His refusal to answer my last question is answer enough. My embarrassment is a little distracting too, because I should have given him the shirt before. It's not like he was just going to wander around the arena shirtless.

"Uh, yeah." I ignore the burning in my cheeks and grab the shirt, and the sword catches my eye when I move to stand. I grab it, too, handing them both to him.

"In case any more giant spiders decide to pay us a visit," I say when he gives me a strange look. I'm serious too, because it's not like leaving him defenseless is a good idea.

"Thanks," he says.

It's just as weird the second time.

"You should get some more sleep," I say. He doesn't respond but I think that's because he's already asleep.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **So Briar decided to help him? WHAT? Is she crazy? madly in love? None of the above? Who knows...**

 **Mely-the-Mockingjay: Mabel and Mr. Fairbain are two people who are very important to Briar, so their reactions will be shown... eventually.**

 **FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: No, everything is not fine, but that's sort of the point of the Hunger Games (manic laughter)**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: People _are_ dying rather quickly, but whatcha gonna do?**

 **SecretsWithSouls00: Cato is definitely confusing. I'm sure Briar would agree with you on that one. Can't deny that he could be helpful though.**

 **WhiteEevee: Capitol medicine is harsh, just like them. Briar did start to fall apart a little. So the question is, will she continue to spiral?**

 **ThatGirl: Haha, well he seems okay for now, but I don't think anyone is really thinking about love at the moment.**

 **Hope you guys enjoyed it!**


	25. Chapter 24: Revelations and Complication

**Chapter 24: Revelations and Complications**

 **Warning: language**

* * *

We don't talk about it in the morning, the stuff that happened yesterday—the whole saving his life thing. I think we both like it better that way. I try not to think too much about the rule change either, because I don't want to go back to being afraid of him every second. Denying what he's capable of may not be the smartest thing to do, but I don't want to ruin whatever tentative peace there is between us.

He looks infinitely better than two days ago, even better than yesterday. His skin has returned to a normal color, and he seems a lot more focused. It's a huge relief, because I don't think attacking another person in his defense will work out quite as well for me, especially not with how my body aches from the impact of the fight. And that would probably make him angry. Once is okay, but twice… that would be a problem. _That would be a failure._

He still moves gingerly though, and I can tell that he's trying to hide the pain. Even with the medicine, I'm sure it's still terrible. I let myself be impressed by his tolerance, considering how much my own body hurts, and I wasn't even injured. I think that should at least make his district somewhat proud because most people couldn't do that. All I can do is hope that it will make up for what's happened, but I don't spend too much time thinking about it. They sent all this really nice stuff, so they can't think he's too much of a failure.

I look over to the boy in question. "We should leave," he says, as he finishes rolling up the blanket.

"We should," I say. "We should probably avoid the lagoon, though."

He stops what he's doing and stares in my direction. "Why?"

"There are these… poppies there."

"So what?"

"I wasn't finished. They're not normal poppies. They blind you. Temporarily, at least," I add, trying not to shiver at the memory of being so vulnerable.

"Nice," he says with a roll of his eyes, evidently sharing my frustration. It makes me feel a little better that even a Career can get fed up with this. "We should move away from the forest we came from at least. The farther in you move, the thicker it gets. It's too difficult to navigate. And I'd rather not get set on fire."

"Set on fire?"

"Pits," he says as he stands. "They light themselves on fire every half hour or so."

I shake my head as I swing the backpack onto my shoulders. "Lovely. This place is just gets better and better."

He doesn't say anything in response, just walks past me towards the entrance of the cave and out.

 _So I guess that hasn't changed._

"What happened down there?" he asks as we walk down the incline to the forest below.

"The storm. Kind of hard to—" I pause for a second, suddenly remembering that Cato said he couldn't remember anything after getting poisoned. I guess he must have missed the storm, too. I shake my head. "Anyway, it sounded worse than the previous ones."

"It looks like an earthquake."

I move faster, trying to catch up with him. "What looks like an earthquake?"

He throws a look over his shoulder before facing forward again. "The giant crack in the earth."

"Oh," is all I say because I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks.

"How did you miss that if the storm was so bad?"

I look at the ground even though that won't cover my embarrassment from the cameras and say, "I was asleep, and I was in the cave, so when it woke me up, I just went back to sleep."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really careful," he says, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

I send him a glare. "Hey, I had just spent who knows how long trying to navigate through the forest blind. I wasn't exactly bursting with energy."

He just _hmmms_ under his breath and says, "Well, you'll have to be more careful now. There aren't enough people left to get away with that."

We walk in silence after that. We stop for water a few times, and a couple other times because of the heat. I keep an eye on Cato as we move through the brush, trying to see if he's in any pain or not. He doesn't give anything away, no more than a wince here or there. I don't even consider asking him if he's okay. But I'm okay with walking in silence, because despite the lengths I've gone to in order to help him, I don't trust him. Not completely. And it's ridiculous that I feel even an ounce of guilt for it because he hasn't really given me a reason why I should. I don't regret what I said about not hating him, nor would I take it back because it was the truth, but that doesn't mean I can erase what I know about him.

There's a single boom of a cannon and we pause, waiting to see if another follows. Unfortunately, it's just the one.

"Probably the kid from Four," I say to Cato as I start walking again.

"Were there any others? While I was out, I mean."

"No, just the one."

"Too bad," he says. "So there are seven of us left. Things will start moving more quickly when it's down to five. We've already been in the arena a long time."

I nod along to his words. "Almost two weeks. Is that…" I pause, not sure if I should ask or if I want to.

"Is that what?"

I could shut my mouth because I know I probably won't like the answer, but my curiosity wins out. "Is that normal? I mean a normal length of time? How long do the Games usually last?"

From all the ones I've seen myself, they don't seem this long, but it gets confusing with the two arenas. I'm rambling, and Cato seems to notice because I see a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Yeah, they're usually about two weeks, or just a little over. The first arena was pretty short."

My mouth opens and asks the next question before I even have time to think about it. "What was the longest anyone was in the arena?" I ask, trying to keep my tone nonchalant. I fail.

"28 days. 32nd Games. The arena was a cavern. Everyone wandered around blindly for days. Wasn't very entertaining. District Four eventually won, though, because there was an underground lake that they used to their advantage."

There's barely time to focus on his extensive knowledge of the Games, because the only thing in my head is the number. That's nearly a whole month in the arena. I can't do that.

"You would think the longest was the 2nd Quell, with there being 48 tributes," he continues, oblivious to my internal panic. "That's the year your mentor won."

"Uh, yeah, it was," is all I can say. I try not to imagine how gruesome it was.

"It was a smart move—manipulating the force-field like that."

I don't know what he's talking about, but I almost stumble over my own feet at the compliment. Haymitch is a joke to most people, even in Twelve. _Especially in Twelve._

"Haymitch is a smart person—most of the time," I say with a small smile, because he really he is. He got Katniss and Peeta out, and I've at least gotten this far.

"You mean when he's not drunk?"

I narrow my eyes. "He's not always drunk."

"That's why I said 'when he's not'."

"Well, whatever he is, it's working." He must notice the barely concealed annoyance in my tone.

Cato chuckles, but it's not a happy sound. "You're giving him too much credit. You've barely got a scratch on you," he says. I'm positive that there's a hint of bitterness in his voice. "He didn't do that."

He speeds up so I can't see his face, and I'm too stunned to move and catch up. I'm pretty sure that that was a compliment, however bitter it sounded. I don't know what to do with it, so I don't say anything in response. Besides, he's not completely right because I'm pretty sure my entire body is bruised. But I don't want to say that either.

After about an hour of walking in silence, Cato changes direction, but gives me no indication as to the reason. He's back to taking charge, which is both annoying and a relief. I just try to focus on the fact that this looks normal to sponsors—him leading, a little bit of arguing. This is normal.

"Where are we going?"

He stops and looks at me, gesturing in the direction we were walking. "Back towards the Cornucopia. Maybe make camp there."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

He sighs, and sends me a droll look. "And why not?"

"It does this thing, where it…" I shake my head, trying to figure out how to explain it. "It starts shaking, and then it just drops down into the canyon."

"How often?" he asks. He doesn't even try to hide his impatience now.

"I don't know. I saw it once, and I didn't stick around too long after."

He stares at me for a few seconds, his eyes searching for something. I fidget under his inspection.

"What exactly were you doing after we got split up?" he asks. There's a weird note in his voice that sounds similar to disbelief, but I can't figure out why that would be. Probably surprised I'm still alive.

"I don't know. What does anyone do in the arena?" I ask with a shrug. "The storm hit and the Cornucopia started shaking so I came over here, and then I just walked around for a few days, and then I found you."

He doesn't look like he believes me, and it's probably because I make it sound like I was just taking a stroll through my district. I'm sure he knows it wasn't that easy, but I don't tell him about how close I came to death, and I don't plan to. My experience at the Cornucopia makes me curious about his though.

"When did you get over here anyway?" I ask.

"Same day I got hit with that fucking dart," he says bitterly. "I went to check the Cornucopia, and then there was a fire on the other side, so I came here."

"A fire?"

He nods and says, "Yeah, half of the thing was burning."

I don't ask about how he got away from the mutt and he doesn't ask me. It's slightly surprising, but I'm glad because I really don't want to relive it. Besides, he's probably sure that he'll see it on the recap. Even if I don't win, he might still.

I nod, seeing that as the end of that particular conversation. "So what now?"

He shrugs. "We go somewhere else. Who knows what else is here. Or who else."

"We could stop and eat."

"No," he says with a shake of his head. "We keep going."

"Are you sure?" I ask. I don't mean to say it out loud, but he's been favoring one side for the better part of the morning, and I'd really rather he not hurt himself further.

"Yes, I'm sure," he says, his tone brokering no argument. I have no choice but to follow after him.

* * *

"Do you always wait this long to eat when you're hungry?" I hear Cato say from in front of me.

His voice startles me out of the semi-comfortable silence.

"What?"

"Your stomach is growling again. Loudly."

My face is probably splotchy from the heat, which is good because my cheeks are definitely red. I barely even noticed my hunger, but that might just be because I'm distracted making sure Cato doesn't keel over suddenly. And if it is that loud, it's his fault because I'm the one that wanted to stop for lunch, and he was against it.

"Well, I'm hungry," he says when I don't answer him.

I send him an unamused look but grab some berries off the plant beside me. "Here," I say, extending my hand to Cato.

He stares at the pink berries in my palm, a suspicious expression overtaking his features.

"What?"

"Aren't those poisonous?" he asks, looking distastefully down at my hand.

My eyebrows knit in confusion as I look down at the berries, because they're not poisonous. "If I wanted you dead, Cato, don't you think saving your life first wouldn't have been the smartest course of action?" The skepticism doesn't leave his face and after a moment, the source of his confusion suddenly dawns on me. I can't stop the smirk from twitching at my lips.

"Oh right," I say. "What happens if you eat these again?"

Cato's eyes narrow, his gaze drifting from the berries to my face. "You said they cause hallucinations."

"Right," I say, nodding my head along with his words. "About that… I might have lied." _I definitely lied._

"What?"

I try to stamp down the urge to smirk. Who knows how Cato will react. "I, uh, I lied about that. They're not really poisonous."

"You lied…" Cato's face is carefully blank. "Why?"

It causes nervousness to settle low in my stomach as I answer his question. "I'm not stupid, Cato. This," I say, gesturing towards the surrounding area, "is my advantage in the arena. And Mace and Nerissa"— _or you_ —"were never going take me remotely seriously or stave off their urge to kill me unless I made myself valuable to them." I shrug, thinking about our conversation on the roof. "If they thought they needed me to stop them from accidentally poisoning themselves, then I bought myself more time."

He looks ready to speak, but I jump to elaborate. I can't have him angry with me over this. Things were just starting to get better. "Mace and Nerissa are going to remember which plants I said are poisonous and which ones aren't. And even if they think I lied or didn't know what I was talking about, they aren't going to risk it. They don't want to go out like that. The more food I say is poisonous, the less food supply they have. The less food, the less energy… It's not much, but it's better than nothing. It makes things more difficult for them at least," I finish, anxiety creeping up on me as I wait for him to reply.

His voice is calm and makes it impossible to tell what he's thinking. "So none of this stuff is really poisonous?"

"No, a lot of it is. I wasn't lying when I said the arena was full of it. I just lied about, like, 70% of the stuff they asked about."

He's still for a moment, and my heart beats loudly against my chest. For a second I think this is it, the moment he kills me. But then he smirks and takes the berries from my hand and begins walking forwards again. "Maybe you're not as dumb as I thought."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Wow, thanks for the compliment," I say dryly as I follow behind him. But there is no malice in my words. Relief and something like pride washes over me at his approval. I try not to get too ahead of myself, but I finally feel like Cato and I are making progress, like we can really do this. We can win together.

We continue in silence for a while, both of us picking at the berries and surveying the area. It doesn't last very long though.

"So all of those symptoms…?" Cato asks, throwing a glance my way.

"Made up," I tell him. "I mean, those are obviously all real things that can happen, just not from those plants. I just tried to think of things that would bother them the most."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "You told Nerissa that one of them causes boils to appear on your face."

I smirk and say, "Like I said, things that would bother them. Not all poison is life threatening, but it can threaten you in other ways. Nerissa thinks her looks are one of her best assets with sponsors. There's no way she would want something to mare that pretty face."

It's not until we've set up camp for the night that I begin to feel the anxiety creep up on me again. I have no advantage anymore now that Cato knows I lied about the plants. There's a brief flicker of hope in my chest that he won't kill me now that I've saved his life, but that just makes me think of Amelia and I'm nervous again. I really need to stop comparing Demetrius and Cato if I want to sustain our timid peace, but it's difficult to convince my brain of that. It's not fair to assume that they're the same person, because all I have to do is think of myself and Amelia to know how different siblings can be. These last few weeks—all the people I've killed—have proven that. I fall asleep that night trying to convince myself that I'm right and that I don't have to worry about him.

* * *

Three days pass without Cato and I encountering any other tributes or any real sort of problem. The only exception is the injuries Cato sustained during his fight with the boy from Four. They haven't shown any signs of infection, which I figure is a result of the sponsor medicine, but I can tell that he isn't back to his normal self. His footsteps have always been loud—it's a wonder he hasn't alerted everyone in the arena to our location just by walking—but they're even worse now. He favors his right side pretty much all of the time, and I can hear the grunts he tries to cover when he practices sword fighting at night. I have extremely limited medical knowledge, but I'm almost positive he has some type of internal damage left over from the trident wound. The last time I tried to make sure he was okay, it became very clear that it was not a welcome question. I still can't help but notice though, and it makes me feel a little bad, because it's mostly for selfish reasons. I don't want to be left alone again, and so I have to make sure Cato is okay. In some horrible twist of the universe, I'm pretty sure it's the only way to stop myself from going insane.

That only makes me think about how quick I was to attack the boy from Ten or about how easily I killed him. I'm jealous of the people who don't know what they're capable of, because the knowledge is shaping a fissure in my chest that only grows wider with every day I spend in the arena. It's no use to think about it though, which is why I need Cato to distract me from my thoughts.

"Is this fun for you or something?" Cato asks when I snap the ribcage of our dinner. I would think he was mocking me if his voice didn't sound so genuinely curious.

I scrunch my nose up when the scent of blood drifts up from the animal. "Not really," I answer.

"Then why do you do it?"

"Why does anyone do anything?" I ask in response. My evasion of the question is terribly obvious.

He shoots me a droll look over the fire. "I just didn't think that butcher was a typical job for a sixteen year-old girl."

I want to point out that it's a lot more normal than being trained to be a human killing machine, but I don't think that would go over well. "No, I guess it's not," I say instead. "How do you know my age?"

He gives me a strange look. "I studied all the tributes. Didn't you?"

"No."

"How are you still alive?" he asks, the same disbelieving tone in his voice. It's weird because I'm pretty sure it's a real question that's not meant to be insulting. Too bad it is, even if I wonder the same thing to myself sometimes.

"You never answered my question," he says when I don't reply. Does he actually want me to explain to him why I'm alive?

"What question was that, Cato?" I ask, trying to cover the irritation in my voice. I'm positive at this point that he enjoys pushing my buttons, and apparently he's very good at finding them.

"Why do you do this?"

I look up in time to see how is face has scrunched up at the sight of the dead cat-like animal, and a little bit of my irritation fades.

"The same reason everyone works, Cato. For money," I say. It's the only answer I'm willing to give.

"But I thought that… Never mind," he says, suddenly looking very angry. At what exactly, I don't know. He does that a lot; asks questions without waiting for an answer or getting angry before one is given.

"Toss me the backpack," he says after a moment of staring harshly at the fire.

His tone is still just as angry, so I do it without question.

He stands when it's in his hand, taking something out and then stalking away.

That's the most engaging conversation we have for the next two days. The tense set of his shoulders and jaw have eased and he's not exactly mean. Moody is probably the right word because sometimes—when I manage to forget that he might still kill me—we're cordial to each other, bordering on actually getting along, and then others he stalks around like everything that moves is personally offending him. That might actually be the case, but for someone who's so open with his anger, he's impossible to read otherwise.

We're walking along the tree line when we hear another cannon go off.

Cato smirks, but I think I see him relax a little more. "It's about time."

I can't help but feel the same. This is going on too long. Thankfully there are only… "Five others left," I breathe out, the disbelief evident in my voice. My mind can't comprehend the fact that I've made it this far—that we've made it this far despite all the problems between us.

"The interviews have already started," Cato says, and my stomach rises in my throat.

"What?" I stutter out.

Cato looks down at me as we walk, both eyebrows high on his forehead. "The interviews with people from the tributes' districts—family, friends, teachers. They do them with the top eight every year," he elaborates.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I say, trying to seem more nonchalant. "I just forget."

What I really mean is that I never expected to make it this far, and knots twist painfully in my stomach when I think about the Capitol invading my home like that. Who are they even talking to? That isn't going to get me any sponsors. I don't even want to know what district Two is going to say about me. I can already imagine them interviewing his friends and family and all of them saying that they can't wait for him to kill me. Suddenly, those six other tributes might as well be a hundred.

"How could you forget about that? It's important for sponsors."

My blood burns all of the sudden. "I know that, Cato," I bite out.

"What's gotten into you, _Briar_ ," he says back just as harshly. The use of my name is mocking, and I'm mad at myself for doing this. I'm not angry with him, but he's the only one around to receive my anger.

"It's nothing, just leave it," I say, walking more quickly ahead of him.

And then I'm suddenly yanked back by the hood on my jacket. I fall backwards, landing on my butt. Panic jolts up my spine as I wait for Cato to attack, but the blow doesn't come. I glare up at him, but he just stares at the spot I was standing moments ago.

"What the hell, Cato?"

He doesn't say anything, and seconds of silence tick by. The heat rises through me rapidly, and I feel like I'm about to explode.

Something beats me to it.

There's a guttural hiss and then a burst of water from the ground. It shoots straight up, and a gasp slips out of my mouth. It must be at least fifty feet in the air, and I can feel the heat radiating from it. The spray of water sizzles as it hits the ground.

We're still for the few minutes the hot water erupts from the ground. The power of the water dims and eventually ceases altogether.

"I hate this fucking place," Cato mutters under his breath before walking forwards again.

I scramble to my feet, trying to calm my heavily beating heart as I rush to catch up with him.

"What was that?" I internally curse at the scared, breathless tone of my voice.

"A geyser," is his short reply. The anger in his voice is punctuated by the aggression he uses to cut away at the vegetation in front of us.

"How did you know that was there?"

"There was steam coming from the ground, didn't you see it?" he asks. I hate how condescending his voice is.

He takes another swing, and the grunt he lets out is audible even above the sounds of wildlife.

"Are you okay?"

He whirls around in a flurry, his face contorted in anger. "Yes, Twelve. Why don't you try worrying about yourself?" he spits, stepping closer to me. He's trying to intimidate me.

It's working.

The use of my district number doesn't go unnoticed, and I find myself taking a step back at the malice in his voice.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he growls.

I don't take a step back this time. "You need to calm down."

"I'm _fine_."

"Stop attacking me. What good does it do? We have a common enemy here, Cato. Can't we just work together?" I almost choke on the words. They leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I didn't want to be back in this place with him.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that I'm being hypocritical. I was short with him first. But he's way worse than I am. I just get angry. He gets… he gets dangerous.

"I just stopped you from burning your skin off. That seems like working together to me," he says. I can hear his heavy breathing in the silence that falls around us.

Then he curses under his breath and stalks forward, leaving me to chase after him once again.

We don't talk for the rest of the day, and it has my stomach twisting painfully. I don't know what I've done, or even if I have anything to do with Cato's anger. And it's so frustrating because it makes me indignant and terrified at the same time. What if he decides to kill me in his rage? He pulled me back from the geyser, which could have killed me, or at least the injuries would have. Does that make us even now? But if he were mad at me, why would he have done that?

My fate is the only thing I can think about when The Fallen appears in the artificial sky, and then Zeppina's face flashes, and I'm not thinking about myself anymore. Now I'm just thinking about what killed her and the fact that I'm not particularly sad about it. And that makes me feel like a horrible person, which makes me think that I still have a shot at winning this.

There's no way of knowing until I see a recap, but I'm almost positive that it was Zeppina who shot both Cato and her own partner. I don't question for a second if she was capable of it, because I constantly felt like she was going to stab me in the back in the last arena. Either way, if it is true, I feel even less sad about her death.

"What was her name?" Cato asks.

My head snaps in his direction, but he isn't looking at me. He's poking something in the fire with his sword, and I look away again.

"Zeppina," I answer. "Why?"

"You were allies with her in the last arena. You let her go once in here," he says seriously. "You aren't going to get stupid now, are you?"

I ignore the irritation sweeping through me, because really, it's not a bad question. If Cato let someone that wasn't an ally live, I'd wonder the same thing.

"No," I tell him.

"Positive?"

"Yes," I answer, feeling like we're back at the start of the arena—like he's asking me if I'm capable of doing what it takes to win. Maybe he still is.

"Good," is all he says, and we are silent after that.

I'm exhausted when I wake up in the morning: tired of fighting with Cato, and walking on eggshells, and being afraid for my life. I'm just tired, but I don't have time for tired. I also don't have time to skirt around Cato.

"Could you get some water while I check the snare?"

He nods, which doesn't really give me an answer to what his mood is today, so I just have to hope that it's at least a little better than yesterday.

It's harder to see through the brush when the sky is gray like it is today. Everything casts a dark shadow, and my head is on a permanent swivel. I'm so paranoid by my surroundings that I almost miss what's right in front of me.

I crouch down and my eyes furrow when I look down at the snare. The wire is broken, and it takes me a second to realize that it's cut straight through. I move to stand, and something collides heavily with my back. Pain shoots down my spine as I tumble into the tree in front of me. The air is gone from my lungs and I don't have any time to get it back because I'm being yanked backwards. I kick my legs frantically and whip my head back. It burns hot, the pain beginning from my head to the base of my spine, and I can't help but cry out. There's a loud grunt behind me and then I'm whipped to the side. Everything is out of focus for a second. I struggle to get to my feet, and I end up stumbling to the side. An axe swings down where I was standing a second ago.

A gasp leaves my mouth. I know I'm moving too slowly, but I can't help it. I turn around, and I only catch a glimpse of my attacker—the boy from Seven—before a fist lands across my cheek. The blood floods my mouth, and I feel like I'm choking. It leaks out the corner of my lips when I whimper. I stumble back and swing an arm out wildly. It makes contact and he recoils, but it's only briefly. The knife falls from my hand.

He swings the axe down again, and I barely manage to sidestep it. It clips my shoulder and I can't stop the cry that leaves my mouth. I'm too off balance and I've lost my knife. He comes at me again, and I have no time to reach for another. I have no defense. I punch my arm out towards his stomach. It makes contact and he gasps, the axe slipping from his grasp.

It's only a small opening, but I take it. I feel sick with dizziness, but I run forward. I try to make myself move faster, but my vision is blurry and my legs are unsteady beneath me. I can hear the leaves crunching behind me, and then he's grabbing my arm. He yanks back, and sharp pain radiates from my shoulder and down my whole body. I scream at the pain, but it gets cut short. I'm swung back into the tree, and all the air leaves my lungs. Tears spring to my eyes, and I'm pulled forward and slammed back again. My head collides with the tree, and everything goes black. I'm distantly aware of a high-pitched sound filling the air, but I can't focus no matter how hard I try. There's two of the boy from Seven, both as hazy as the other. There's pressure on my neck, and I can't breathe. Or is that just my head? My chest is too tight, and I try to kick out, but there's no force behind my movements.

And then suddenly there's no pressure at all. I collapse on the ground in a heap, and I want to cover my ears because everything is too loud. There's loud screeching, and I think it's metal on metal but I can't be sure because everything is so blurry. There are shadows of movement, but I can't follow them. I try to push myself up, but the feeling of nausea is so overwhelming that I can't. Everything is too hazy.

I briefly wonder if I'm dying, maybe even dead because nothing feels real. But then I decide that I can't be, as the blurs of colors move in front of me and loud grunts fill the air, because if I were dead, everything wouldn't be so loud or fuzzy. I can taste metal and that only makes the nausea worse.

I can't figure out what's happening. There's a thunderous sound and my head lolls to the side as I try to find the source, but it's no use. It doesn't matter, though, because the screeching stops. I blink slowly, feeling my muscles relax.

The ground is so soft and I'm so tired.

Everything's bright. So, _so_ bright. Scattered yellow lights everywhere, flickering through the shadows. It's _beautiful_ , and I wish I could touch it, but it's so far and⎯-

Cato is suddenly blocking my view.

"Hey, don't close your eyes. You have to try to stay awake."

"Okay," I tell him.

I won't close my eyes. Not for long at least. Just for a little. There's too much to do. I have to hunt, and find the other tributes. I have to help Cato, and we have to win. Mabel's birthday is coming up, and I don't want to miss it. Cato has to go home.

…

I groan when I'm pulled from the soft ground. I suddenly feel like I'm floating, and I curl into the warmth that envelops me.

"Will you listen to me for once? Don't close your eyes."

My head throbs, sharp pain shooting behind my eyelids when I try to lift them. My eyes are open long enough to see Cato. He's blurry, and his voice is too loud, and if I could just go to sleep, then I'd feel better.

"Come on, we're almost there. Just stay with me."

…

There's a buzzing, thick and muted in my ears. A voice.

I frown. I know that voice.

Cato. Cato's voice. It sounds weird, like⎯-like he's choking on it. Like panic. That's what it sounds like.

I don't want him to sound worried, because that means that something is wrong, but I can't bring myself to follow what he's saying. His words are no longer words. They're sounds, and no matter how much I try to piece them together, that's all they remain.

I want to open my eyes, to tell him that I'm fine, that he doesn't need to worry. But I'm too tired. My limbs no longer feel like a part of me, and my head aches, and I just want to sleep. I can't remember why I wouldn't let myself before, so I keep my eyes shut and give in to the desire pulling me under.

There are more panicked sounds, and then there's nothing.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **AHHHHHHH WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN TO BRIAR? WILL SHE BE OKAY?**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Will there be romance though? Briar's already stated that she thinks Katniss and Peeta were nuts for bringing romance into the arena. Who knows, anyway. Briar could still die... or Cato**

 **Mely-the-Mockingjay: Briar is definitely a little stunted when it comes to social interaction (she has been along for a long time), so it felt natural to make her awkward. She has gets stuck in her own head a lot so that doesn't help.**

 **S-A-16: Thanks (:**

 **SecretsWithSouls00: Will they win though?**

 **WhiteEevee: Ahhh, descriptions of his wounds were so hard to write. I've seen some pretty nasty things, but obviously not _that_ nasty, so research was a bit rough. I love picturing the Capitol (and Districts 2 and 12) during this, it ranges from hilarious to annoying and everything in between. The uh-ing and um-ing is less about him being attractive and more about feeling off-kilter. She definitely doesn't know how to approach this situation, especially when she never expected to be here. **

**FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: Cato's okay, but now Briar isn't ):**

 **GreenonBlack: No problem (:**

 **Thanks guys!**


	26. Chapter 25: Keep Going

**Chapter 25: Keep Going**

I'm running. My legs move so quickly that I can feel the muscles stretch with every movement, and I love it. The sun is bright above me, and that feels good too. The houses and the people are a blur as I run down the muddy path, the earth squishing and moving beneath my feet. The air is fresh, the way it can only be after a storm. My legs burn just like my lungs, but it feels good, so I keep going.

The scent of coal fills my nose when I pull to a stop, replacing the metallic scent that I can't quite place. I walk up the steps slowly as I catch my breath. The relief of being home is overwhelming, settling deep in my bones and making me feel light for the first time in ages. The door swings open easily when I turn the knob and push. I smile when the cool air hits my skin, when I see the familiarity of my surroundings.

"There you are, sweetie. I was wondering where you were."

The smile on her face is warm, as are her grey eyes.

"Sorry, Mom. I just lost track of time," I tell her, unable to stop the smile from creeping onto my own face.

"Dinner should be ready any minute," she says, walking back towards the kitchen. I follow after her, taking a seat at the table.

"Smells great. What are we having?"

"It's a surprise."

I laugh at the look of excitement on her face, but it falters when I hear a loud sound from outside.

"What was that?" I ask.

Her eyebrows furrow. "What was what, honey?"

"That yelling," I say, throwing a look at the window. There isn't anyone there, but I can still hear it.

"I don't hear anything," she tells me, a look of concern covering her soft features.

"What are you talking about, Rosie?" Amelia says, stepping out of one of the back rooms.

And just like that the yelling is gone.

"Nothing, I thought I heard something, but I was wrong."

I smile at my sister. She looks especially happy today, the warmth in her eyes matching that of my mother's.

"Where were you all day?" Amelia asks as she steps up to the stove, stirring a pot alongside my mother.

"I was…" I pause, thinking over the question. I can't recall anything I've done, except running here, and then the yelling starts again outside. This time there's a high-pitched scream to go with it. "I don't know," I say, ignoring the noises from outside. "Just around, I guess."

She hums and nods.

The sounds get louder, and I want to plug my ears.

"Dinner's ready," Mom announces, and I try to forget about the noises.

Both her and Amelia walk towards me, each carrying a tray. They're covered though, and I can't tell what's in them.

"I'm so excited. I just know you're going to love it," Mom says.

I'm sure I will too. I've always loved her cooking. No matter what we had, she always knew how to make it special.

"It smells great," I tell her with a smile. "So are you ever going to let me know what it is?"

"Of course. Just give me a moment and—"

There's a loud knock on the front door. Something sharp prickles at the back of my neck, and the yelling is back.

"I'll be right back. No peeking," she says, pointing a finger at me before walking to the door.

I crane my neck to see who's there, something nagging at the back of my brain, but Amelia speaks, pulling my attention away.

"You can take a look if you want," she says, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I won't tell her."

I laugh but shake my head. "It's okay, I can wait a little while."

The smile slips from her face, and the warmth follows. Concern fills her eyes as screams fill my ears.

"I think you should take a look."

"Amelia, what's—"

"Please, Rosie," she begs, and it sounds so _wrong_.

She _looks_ so wrong. The color has drained from her face, a thin red line stretched across her neck. My chest constricts at the sight. I've never seen her look so sad.

My hand reaches out of its own accord. It's shaking, even when I reach the lid of the tray. I pull it back and a gasp slips out of my mouth. A cat-like animal sits on the metal, its eyes wide and staring at me.

"What's going on, Amelia?" I choke out, anxiety spreading through my limbs.

She's by my side in a second, uttering soothing words that I barely hear over the rapid beating of my heart.

"It's going to be okay," she tells me. "You're going to be okay."

"I don't understand," I wheeze.

I can't get my breathing under control. The yelling outside is so loud that I can't hear myself think.

"You've got to keep fighting. Do you hear me?" she says, her voice no longer soothing but stern. "You're almost there. You can't give up now."

"Please, Amelia, tell me what's going on."

She cups both of my cheeks in her hands and presses a kiss to my forehead. "I believe in you, Rosie," she whispers. "Hang on a bit longer. Just push through it. I know you can." Amelia stands abruptly, fear shining in her eyes.

"Look who's here, girls," my mother says.

The screaming from outside fills my ears. I stand on shaky legs.

"Keep going," I hear Amelia whisper as I turn around.

The boy from Seven stands before me, and there's nothing but him and yells surrounding me. Suddenly everything throbs, and I can't move.

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he takes a step towards me and raises his ax. He swings it down and I don't move.

I realize that the scream was coming from me.

There's something uncomfortable tugging at the back of my brain. I try to grasp it, but it slips away, and then I'm too tired to go after it again. There's buzzing in my ears but it's distant. I want to open my eyes, and I think I manage, but I can't see anything. There's a sharp pain in my head from the glaring lights. There's more buzzing, but I ignore it and close my eyes again.

* * *

It's there again, something grabbing at me, but I can't name it and I don't want to. I'm too tired.

…

It won't go away. I feel a dull throbbing from somewhere to my left, which is strange, because how could I feel that? It's a steady pain and a flicker of light before everything goes black again.

…

Sharp pain, that's what I feel breaking through the black haze. Am I dead? No, because this wouldn't hurt so badly. My eyes fly open, and the pain becomes excruciating, but this time it's in my head. A whimper passes my lips as bright colors sway in front of me. I think it's a person, but everything is fuzzy. The pain is enough to block out my fear.

"Cato?" My throat feels raw when I speak, and my voice is groggy to my own ears.

I struggle to force my eyes open wider, and everything is too bright and too loud and it _hurts_. Pain blossoms everywhere as the nausea stirs in my stomach. I start wheezing, and everything spins and then I'm vomiting.

Seconds pass as I catch my breath, and it turns out the world wasn't spinning; I was just being turned on my side.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice booming in my ears.

I try to answer, but I feel bile rise in my throat again, so I just nod. My head throbs with the action. There's something wrong with me, I know it, but I can't pinpoint what.

"Stay on your side."

It's an easy command to heed because I don't think I can move.

"My hand hurts," I mumble, even though I try to sound strong.

I blink up at him. He's fuzzy when he speaks.

"You weren't waking up."

I frown at his tone of voice. "What does that mean?"

There's silence for a moment, which is nice.

"I broke one of your fingers."

I almost laugh even though it isn't really funny. It's just not what I was expecting. But he said I wasn't waking up. There must be something wrong with my head. It's the only thing that makes sense.

I try to focus on my surroundings, but it's hard to pay attention to anything other than the throbbing radiating through every inch of my body.

"What's wrong with my head?"

Cato shifts in front of me, and I have to close my eyes again because there's too much light. Then he settles down, and the light fades.

"You've got a concussion," he says bluntly. "A bad one."

"So that's why there's two of you."

Neither one of him smiles.

I can't help but stare at him, trying to figure out how this happened. This must be how Cato felt when he woke up in the cave. It's hard to tell exactly what he looks like because everything is still fuzzy, but it's obvious that Cato has been through some fight. Was it the same one as me?

There's a large red gash across his cheek, and the skin is purple, at least I think it is, forming a dark ring around his eye. There's dried blood on the corner of his mouth, and he looks more tense than I've ever seen him.

"I can't remember what happened," I tell him. I have no reason to pretend to be okay. I can barely move and I know that no one would believe me.

"You went to check the snare," he says. "Ring any bells?"

I try to remember what he's talking about.

"No," I say after a moment.

Another wave of nausea washes over me. Cato waits until I stop dry heaving before he speaks again.

"The tribute from Seven attacked you," he says, and if my head wasn't messed up, I'd think he sounded angry.

There's a flash of someone rushing at me, and the memory of searing pain in my skull as my head slammed against the tree. My heart sinks at the memory, and fear settles low in my stomach.

"He had an ax," I say. It's getting really hard to focus on anything.

"He did."

I remember screeching metal and figures blurring in front of me. "Is that how you got hurt?"

Everything is going black around the edges again. I feel so weak for having to ask, but I try not to let it get to me. I need to know what happened more than I need to pretend that I'm not the most vulnerable I've been since entering the arena.

"Yes."

"Is he… you killed him?"

Both Catos stare at me intently and they nod. "Yes."

My eyelids are too heavy, and I feel them sliding shut.

"Briar?"

"Hm?" My eyes stay closed.

"Briar?" He's too loud again.

I'm afraid to fall back asleep, but I can't fight against it.

* * *

"Hey," I hear someone say. "Hey, you need to wake up."

I squeeze my eyes tighter because I can feel the throbbing begin in my head. Then it blooms in my left hand. I groan.

"You conscious?"

Fear jolts through me and I try to get up, but the whole world tilts. I think I'm going to be sick again, and I start to fall over. I feel something— _someone_ —grab me, and I'm placed back on the floor.

They move into my line of sight. I see light colors and then blue, and then I remember what's happening.

"Are you going to throw up again?" Cato asks.

I shake my head, because I don't think so now that the world is standing still again.

"Good."

He stays crouched in front of me, playing with something his hand.

"I passed out again?"

"Yes."

I groan a second time, but now it's not just because of the pain that pulls at my limbs. My head doesn't feel quite as foggy as it did before, but I still can't piece everything together. The only thing I know is that I should probably be dead right now.

"What else is wrong with me? Besides my head?" I ask, blinking up at the sky. It's dark now, so the light doesn't hurt my eyes.

"He got your shoulder with the ax, and you've got a black eye," he says. "And your throat is bruised."

My eyes drift to side and catch sight of something wrapped tightly around my shoulder. I close them after a few seconds though because the pain is horrible. It could be worse, I think, but then I remember that that's all that's wrong with me _not_ counting my head.

"Are you sure you're not going to be sick again?" Cato asks.

"I think so," I say, because I don't really feel like lying. It takes too much energy.

He moves closer to me. "You need to drink this then, but only if you're going to keep it down."

"I will."

He nods. "Okay. You need to sit up then."

I feel him place a hand behind my back to help me up. I'm a little embarrassed that I need it, but I'm thankful nonetheless. I take the small bottle from his hand and pour it down my throat. It burns, and I start coughing, but I get it down.

"You can go back to sleep now," he says. "But I'll have to wake you up in four hours."

I'm confused for a moment. Does he want me to take watch?

"You have a concussion. You have to be woken up every 3-4 hours or you could fall into a coma," he tells me bluntly when he sees my confusion.

I shiver at the thought. What would the Gamemakers do with me then?

"Has that ever happened before? In the Games?" I ask him.

"No. Now stop talking. You're slurring your speech."

"What?"

Even though everything is still hazy, I think I see him roll his eyes. "Just go to sleep."

I do.

That's how it goes for a while: Cato wakes me up every few hours, and I try not to whimper in pain. By the fifth time he wakes me up, there's only one of him, which I hope is a good sign. I tell him as much.

"There's only one of you now."

He raises an eyebrow. "That's good, since there _is_ only one of me."

Shakily, I push myself up into a sitting position. There's a rush in my head, but I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ignore it.

"What are you doing?" Cato asks, frustration obvious in his tone.

I push myself the last of the way. "Sitting up. What does it look like I'm doing?"

He just stares at me for a second and then shakes his head. "You aren't slurring as much."

"That means the liquid stuff is working, right?"

He shrugs and says, "Seems like it."

"What was it anyway?"

"Don't know. Medicine, I guess. Sponsors sent it," he tells me before passing over a tiny white slip of paper.

I look down at it, trying to read the words. The letters are a black blur on the page, and it sends excruciating pain through my skull when I try to focus on it. I just stare at it for a couple of seconds.

"Give it to me."

"What?"

"I'll read it," he sighs.

Embarrassment doesn't even begin to cover what I feel, but I hand it back anyway.

"It says 'Keep it down' and 'Try not to die again,'" he tells me. I think he's joking for a second, but then he raises an eyebrow at the paper before looking at me. "That's some great advice. A lot of thought went into that, I'm sure."

I shrug. "As good as any, I guess."

What else is there to say? Besides, the only thing that matters to me is that someone out there cared enough about me to send this. My head may be messed up, but I can still recognize the importance of this. Medicine is far from cheap, and maybe everything hurts just a little less knowing that someone thinks I'm worth it. Now I just have to prove that they were right.

Cato just stares at me, but I don't think he's going to say anything, so I keep talking. "How long has it been?"

"About a day, maybe a little more."

 _Fantastic_.

It's not that I'm ashamed of having almost died, because I'm not. But I'm… well, I don't really know what I am. Disappointed, maybe? Because all I can remember is thinking about how many people I would be letting down if I died.

If this is how Cato felt after I saved him, I definitely have a new respect for him. The thought sends a shock through me.

 _Cato saved me._ He killed the boy from Seven, and he could have killed me himself when he saw me lying there, completely vulnerable. Instead he brought me here, wherever here is. And he _saved_ me. Why would he do this? The idea that he cares about me in any way, even as an ally, seems absurd, but there's no other explanation. Unless the poison got to his brain. That could be it. I stop thinking about his reasons makes my head hurt worse.

"Thank you," I say. My voice quivers slightly, but I try not to care. This is the least I can give him.

"Why are you thanking me?" he asks.

It sounds confused, which clashes with the expression on his face. I'd almost call that afraid, or maybe even embarrassed. It takes a moment for me to realize that I'm probably making him uncomfortable, but I need to say it. I need to make it real so that I can move on.

"I'm thanking you for saving my life."

"Well stop," he says. Now he looks annoyed.

 _Definitely uncomfortable._

"Relax, I'm not asking you why you did it, Cato. I don't care why. Whether or not it's because you felt indebted to me, or you wanted me alive, or you had a temporary lapse in sanity, it doesn't matter. I'm just glad to not be dead." He sends me a serious look, and I relent. "Fine, I'll stop."

A couple of minutes of silence pass between us before either one of us speaks again.

"You can go back to sleep if you want."

"I'm not tired," I say, which is a blatant lie, but he doesn't call me out on it. "You've been awake for a long time. I can watch if you want."

He laughs at that, but it's not the angry one I've heard before. "There's no chance in hell that I'm letting you take watch right now. Just go back to sleep, Briar."

I feel better with the use of my first name. I don't back down though. "No, I don't want to."

He narrows his eyes in my direction for a second before he shakes his head. "Fine, do what you want."

"I will."

"How do you still have the energy to be this stubborn?" he asks with a roll of his eyes. It sounds almost teasing, so I just shrug in response.

The truth of the matter though, is that I am tired. Again. I've never had a concussion before, so I don't really know what to make of it. My father had one once from an accident in the mines, and he couldn't work for weeks. What does that mean for me? Especially if Cato said that mine is bad. I internally groan, which is matched by an external one when I lay back down. The part of my head that touches the ground sends pain shooting through my skull, and I can't stop the sound.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I wince. "Just feel like I got my head bashed into a tree."

He snorts at that. "I bet."

I hear movement, and then Cato steps into my line of sight. "You should eat."

There's a bunch of berries in his hand, ones that I pointed out to him as not being poisonous. I glad he remembers that because I don't know how much hunting I'll be doing in the next few days.

"Thanks," I say, taking them from his hand.

He grunts and returns to his spot. I can see the backpack to his right, and that makes me concerned about the wire. We probably don't have it anymore. It's probably still in that spot.

"Hey, Cato?"

"What?"

I lick my lips and try to stamp down the anxiety twisting in my stomach. "How did you know where I was?"

His eyes flicker up to me, and for a second I don't think he's going to answer, but then he says, "I heard you scream."

"Oh."

I don't really know what to say to that, because that, I am a little embarrassed about. I've tried so hard not to let them get to me: to not give them the satisfaction. But then I'm angry because it's so wrong that they've made me feel like this. They're actually beginning to make me embarrassed for being human.

I have to push through it.

 _I won't let them win._

"Cato?

"Hm?"

"What happened while I was out?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. Just the tribute from Seven."

I look up and see stars in the artificial sky. I didn't even realize we were outside. "He was a favorite."

He could have killed me.

 _He should have killed me, but Cato saved me._

"Yeah, his odds were 5-1."

"And now there's only five of us left."

As soon as I say the words, I feel the bracelet around my wrist. This is how close she got to the end, before everything was ruined. I can't stop the pit of fear from forming in my stomach either. Not with Cato so close. I remind myself that I wouldn't be alive without him, and that makes it loosen a little.

We could actually do this. As long as my head doesn't get in the way.

"I'm going to go back to sleep," I say.

"Okay."

"You should sleep too, Cato."

"I'm good."

I can't stop myself from sighing. "You've been awake for more than 24 hours. You have to be tired."

"Someone has to be ready in case we need to move."

"Cato, you're voice sounds like it's coming out of a speaker right now," I say. He merely raises an eyebrow as I continue. "Everything sounds like that. It'll wake me up. Go to sleep."

He's silent, still staring at me and then he says, "Fine," before settling back against a tree and closing his eyes. "Try not to fall into a coma."

He sounds kind of serious, and I try not to be scared. "I'll do my best."

* * *

I can feel the ax as it sinks into my chest, the sharp blade slicing slowly through my skin until I can't breathe—until I'm drowning in my own blood. I try to scream, but I have no voice. My head falls to the side, and I see Cato standing there. He does nothing, just watches as I start suffocating.

"I told you, Twelve. You're nothing but dead weight."

I start coughing, and the ax is gone.

I sit up to fight back, and I'm overcome by pain and nausea. Everything is too bright, and I realize that it was a dream. My hand goes to my chest anyway.

"You okay?" I hear someone say, and I startle again.

I try to control my breathing, because I don't want Cato to think that I'm losing it. "Yeah. I was just… I was just remembering the fight." It's sort of the truth.

He doesn't look like he believes me, but there's nothing I can do about that. "We should start moving again. We've been here too long."

"Alright."

He doesn't ask me if I'm okay to move, and I'm more than grateful. Mainly because I know the answer wouldn't be yes, because it still feels like someone is shining a flashlight directly in my eyes and stabbing a knife through my skull, and everything is still a little hazy. There isn't anything I can do about it though. All I can do is hope that the medicine still has some power left in it.

We don't have many things, so we're ready to move without much trouble—for the most part at least. I feel woozy when I stand, like I've done it too quickly, but the light-headedness doesn't really fade. Cato pretends not to notice that I'm unsteady on my feet. But when I start lagging, he can't really ignore it.

He stops and turns, pinning me with intent look. "Do you feel any better?" he asks.

There's a note like concern in his voice, but that doesn't make much sense. But then it hits me that he's tied to me, so he's probably just concerned that I'm holding him back.

"A little."

He searches my face for something, and I have to fight the urge to yell at him. I always feel like he's analyzing me, and it makes me uncomfortable because I can't read him. He has a great mask; no doubt one he learned in the academy. It makes me jealous of him.

When he's done, he doesn't say anything. He merely nods and walks away, and I follow unsteadily after him.

A shift in our relationship—if it can even be called that—becomes obvious to me over the next few days. Cato is _nice_. I mean, not like Mabel, or Peeta, or even Katniss, but we don't argue. Not once. Which is strange, but that's also nice. With everything going on with my head, I don't want to worry about Cato killing me. And maybe he's a good actor and still plans on it, but that doesn't make much sense considering he saved my life. All I know is that I hope it doesn't change. It would make winning much easier.

I was right about not having the wire anymore, and I can't help but feel bad about it. I should have realized sooner what was going on, that the wire was cut. It would have saved me a lot of trouble. For one, I wouldn't have to rely on Cato to catch food. Not that he can't do it, because he can. And that only makes me realize how much I overestimated my importance to him earlier. He just tosses a knife like it's nothing and then there's dinner. But more importantly, it would have saved us both the trouble of injury. I'm slower and off balance, and everything still feels weird, almost like it's not real. But there's nothing I can do about my head at this point.

Cato's injuries seem less serious, but now that I'm not as bad as I was when I first woke up, I can tell that the fight must have been brutal. The cut on his cheek is actually three different ones, all of which are deep, and I'm almost positive that it's getting infected, which is bad enough. The bruise on the other side covers nearly his whole face, and his limp is even more pronounced than before. I feel terrible, because it's my fault. Well, maybe not mine, but the boy from Seven's. But then again, he was after me, so it's all the same.

Unsurprisingly, I don't bother to ask Cato about his injuries. I don't want him to bite my head off. Especially because he's in the middle of trying to catch us dinner.

I can't help but stare as he moves forward slowly— _silently_. It's unusual, because I haven't witnessed anything other than his stomp. But I guess this is actual hunting. It's a terrifying thought: that he's capable of moving that quietly, because that could be a person he's sneaking up on, and they wouldn't stand a chance. If Cato wants you dead, I have little doubt that he'd find a way to get it done.

I think it's even truer when I watch the knife sail through the air and into the animal's neck. He's next to me in a moment, the animal in hand.

"You think you can handle cutting this up?" he asks, and I can't help but feel like it's a test of some sort.

I haven't done any of the prep since the fight, mainly because my hand is either so fatigued or so shaky that it's pointless. But I'm feeling a little better, so I answer with a yes.

He doesn't look convinced and he tells me as much. "Are you sure?"

I roll my eyes. "Why do you bother to ask if you're just going to question every answer I give you? I'm fine, Cato."

"If you say so," he says, handing me the animal. "I'll start the fire."

It takes me much longer than usual to finish skinning and cutting for two reasons: first, my movements are sloppy, like I've lost some control of my limbs, and second, because I can't understand Cato. He keeps questioning me, and it makes me wonder why he didn't just let me die if he thinks I'm so… weak. It just doesn't make sense. He doesn't make sense. And on top of that, it doesn't make sense that I'm thinking about this because it's a waste of time and energy.

"You almost done?"

"Yeah. Can you pass me a stick?" I ask, not bothering to look over to him.

He does without further question, and when I finish putting it over the fire, I notice that he doesn't seem nearly as grossed out as the other times, which is an improvement.

"How's your head?" he asks after a moment of silence.

"It's fine. Stop asking," I say. It comes out a lot harsher than necessary, but I can't help but snap at him. I don't want him to keep bringing it up: to keep reminding sponsors that there's something wrong with me.

He looks momentarily taken aback by the harshness in my voice, and it makes me feel a little bad. But only a little.

"Are you sure about that?"

I sigh and scrub a hand down my face. I really don't have the energy to argue with him. "Why do you keep asking, Cato? It's not like it'll change the answer."

"I know."

"Then why keep asking?" I huff out. "Are you just trying to make sure I'm not going to hold you back?"

He rolls his eyes. "If I thought you were going to weigh me down, I would have let Seven kill you," he says.

I blink at him, heat rising to my cheeks at his words—how true I know they are. I don't really know how to respond to that, and thankfully he saves me from having to.

"Are you always so defensive?"

"I'm not defensive," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

He raises an eyebrow. "There. You're doing it again."

"You're one to talk."

"And again."

"I'm not that…" I begin. I stop though, because I know he's right. "Maybe I am," I concede, "but why wouldn't I be? You do know where we are, right?"

"No, why don't you enlighten me?" he deadpans. Then he shakes his head. "I don't buy it. You were like this even before we got into the arena."

"That's because I was afraid of you."

My head snaps up, which makes everything spin, and my mouth shuts. A wave of embarrassment rushes through me. _Crap_. I can't believe I just admitted that to him, for everyone to hear.

I don't want to see Cato's reaction, but my eyes are traitorous. But he isn't smirking like I expect him to be. Instead, he looks just as surprised as I am.

Then the smirk appears, and I can't help but roll my eyes. Of course he's proud of that.

"You were afraid of me."

"Yes," I concede, because there's no point in lying now. "How could I not be with… everything. Besides, you weren't exactly non-threatening. You basically cornered me on the roof," I say, thinking about our time in the training center—how terrified I was.

He huffs. "I did not."

"You did."

"You could have left at any moment. And besides, you didn't seem very afraid."

That's a relief. I'd try to smirk, but I don't trust my brain to do it correctly. "And that made you mad."

He smirks again, and I feel like I've lost. "So were you."

"Of course I was mad," I say in exasperation. "It's not exactly common for people to say that—" I stop abruptly, suddenly remembering that we're probably on camera right now. I don't know why, but I don't really want people to know all the details of that conversation. "Most of the things you said were less than civil."

"You weren't much better."

"Yeah, but you weren't threatened by me, so it's not the same," I say.

He shrugs. "Still, you seemed even less afraid after that. Why?"

I worry my lip between my teeth, trying to figure out how to explain it, because he's right. In some weird way, I was less afraid. Well not less afraid, but less concerned maybe?

"I don't know. I guess it's because of what you said at the end. I felt relieved, I guess."

"Relieved?" he asks, his voice incredulous. He obviously remembers that his words shouldn't really be considered the reliving variety.

I can't help but laugh a little, because I still find it ridiculous that I felt this way. It doesn't change it though. "Yeah, relieved. It sounds crazy, I know, but it just… I didn't feel like I was going to be singled out, and that was a relief."

He stares silently for a few seconds, and then shakes himself out of it. "You don't make any sense," he says at last.

"Maybe not," I say, but I can't think of another way to explain it.

The people watching us right now are probably confused, because neither of us actually made clear what was said.

"But you aren't anymore?"

"I'm not what?"

"Afraid," he says. "You said I _was_ afraid of you. So you aren't anymore?"

His face is carefully blank, which is annoying, because I can't tell what he wants the answer to be. In the end, I go with a watered down version of the truth.

"This is the Hunger Games, Cato. I'm afraid of everything."

He tilts his head to the side, looks away, and then back at me again. "Good."

I send him a confused, slightly offended look. "What do you mean 'good'."

"You'd have to be stupid to let your guard down," he tells me, his face serious.

The words should be threatening, and maybe they make me a little nervous, but not as much as they should. They don't _sound_ like a threat. It's more like a statement of fact. And it sort of sounds like another way of telling me he approves. But that's probably just wishful thinking on my part. Or my messed up brain making things up.

"I still don't buy it though," he says, breaking me from my thoughts. "That you weren't this defensive before the Games."

"And I never pegged you as the nosey type."

"I'm not. But you wouldn't know either way because you don't know very much about me."

"And you know a lot about me?" I ask, the skepticism clear.

"No, but you're easy to read, so it probably wouldn't be difficult to figure out," he says before taking a bite out of the squirrel.

"Do you always think so highly of yourself? I mean, I don't think I've ever—"

 _Boom_.

I flinch at the sound, my ears ringing and my head pounding painfully, but I try not to care. We both look up to the sky as the sound echoes around us. Another one down.

"What do you think the odds are that the cannon was for either Mace or Nerissa?" I ask, not even bothering to finish my last comment.

Cato huffs out a breath and answers without taking his eyes off the sky. "If I was going to bet, I'd say low. But it's hard to tell."

"The only other tribute is… a girl from your district."

He nods, but his face is emotionless. "Yeah."

I feel something uncomfortable settle low in my stomach and in my chest. It's like a strange mixture of guilt and fear, and I know exactly why. What would happen if we had to face the girl from his district? Would he kill her? Maybe if it came down to winning, but… that would look bad, and I'm sure he knows it—winning with a girl from Twelve by killing someone from your own district. I really hope it doesn't come down to that.

"How good is she?"

"Good," he says after a beat, turning his eyes to the fire.

And I know by that he means great. I remember him mentioning that the other girl from his district was even better than her, and I'm glad I didn't have to face her. I try not to sigh in disappointment. No matter who the cannon was for, it still leaves two Careers.

"How long until they decide it's time?" I ask. I don't bother to specify what I mean, but it seems that Cato doesn't need me to.

"Who knows? Couple days, maybe."

I hope he's right, because I won't stand much of chance against anyone if the world turns upside down every time I take a step.

We eat quietly, waiting for the anthem to begin. When it does and it shows the face of the girl from Two, we stay silent because there isn't much to say after that. I take first watch even though Cato seems no more comfortable with the idea than he did after I first got injured. He must know that while I don't stand much of a chance in this state, he does. So he goes to sleep. And thus concludes another day in the arena, I think. No matter what happens in the next few days, I don't have many more.

* * *

The next day is quiet, both of us alert in case the Gamemakers decide to get this over with quickly. Well actually, Cato is alert, while I try to be. But I can't focus on anything too long before the nausea burns away at my stomach and lodges in my throat. To make matters worse, my ears continue to ring, and I keep flinching, thinking that I hear someone coming. Cato sends me weird looks every time. He must think I'm going crazy. Maybe I am. I've given up trying to judge sanity in the arena.

We don't talk much except the occasional comment about the terrain, what to expect, and planning. It's not an unpleasant silence though, which is nice. And weird. Cato is my fourth alliance in the Games, and the only person I can say that I've been more comfortable around is Barden. Not that I'm comfortable with Cato. I'm just not worried every second that he's going to lose it or stab me in the back. I should probably be worried at the latter, but I'm not. I'd blame it on my head, but I know that isn't really it. I've saved his life and he saved mine. Twice, if I'm being more specific. And there's only one other team left and we can go home. If he were going to kill me, he would have done it already.

I feel bad because we have to stop every hour or so, because I'm just too exhausted to keep going. By the time we stop for the night, I don't feel much else besides embarrassment. I already know what they're thinking in the Capitol: I don't stand a chance.

"It's the concussion," Cato tells me as I take a large gulp of water.

I swear under my breath because even that hurts. I unwrap the bandage around my shoulder, inspecting the wound left by Seven's ax. It isn't too deep, but it's red and itchy. It seems to be scabbing over, which hopefully indicates that it won't get infected. That's the last thing I need right now.

I'm so busy staring at my shoulder that I barely realize Cato is walking towards me until he's right in front of me. His face is only a couple of inches from mine, and I flinch back.

"Hold still."

"What are you doing?" If I could, I'd roll my eyes at how pathetic my voice sounds.

Cato's eyes stay focused on me, and I shift uncomfortably. "Making sure your pupils are the same size."

 _What?_

"What?"

"It's been four days, and you're still getting dizzy, and you flinch nearly every time something makes a noise," he states. It isn't a question because we both know it's true.

"What does that have to do with my pupils?" I ask, this time trying to stand still so he can look. Obviously it's important.

"You aren't getting much better, even with the medicine."

"I don't feel like my brain is going to explode anymore," I say weakly.

He steps back and sends me an unamused look. "If your pupils are different sizes, it could mean you have internal hemorrhaging. They're the same size," he adds, no doubt seeing the look of alarm on my face.

He's still within arm's reach, and so he easily plucks a knife from my vest. "Try throwing this."

I can practically feel the color drain from my face, but I take the knife from his outstretched hand. I have to try. I can't look weak. I take a deep breath, remembering what Cato told me, and then I throw. The effort knocks me off kilter, so I miss where it lands. I don't look up right away because I'm afraid of what I'll see. And when I eventually do, I know I was right to be. The knife sticks out of log no more than ten feet in front of me.

I want to cry, and scream, and curse the Capitol. The rage swells in me quickly, most of it aimed at the boy from Seven. It doesn't matter to me that he probably just wanted to go home like I do. He did this to me, and he could be the reason I don't get to go home either.

Cato pulls the knife out of the log, and hands it back to me. His lips are pulled into a thin line, and I can't read anything on his face. But then again, I never can unless it's anger.

"Do it again," he says.

And of course I listen. I don't want him to decide that I can't do this, and that he should just get rid of me himself. I do it about ten more times, and I feel absolutely horrible. My limbs are sluggish, and my head and stomach are swimming. Cato must notice because he stops me from taking another shot.

"I've got first watch."

I'm extremely grateful when I wake in the morning to find that he never woke me to take over.

* * *

"Hey," I say, nudging Cato's leg.

He's alert in seconds, looking ready to pounce on anything that attacks.

"It looks like another storm is coming. We should head out," I say, glancing at the afternoon sun. Or rather, lack thereof.

He nods and we're off in minutes. It's getting tiring doing the same thing over and over again. Even with Cato around, the only things I can pay attention to are the constant pounding in my head and the large pit of worry that's continuously expanding in my stomach. We're running out of time, and I'm running out of energy. It's been almost three days since the cannon went off for the girl from Cato's district. I just want this to end. I can practically feel the energy seeping out of my pores, and I want it to stop.

It actually makes me thankful for the storms, because that means it's not nearly as bright outside. It's not as hot either. The only problem is the wind. I'm not completely steady as it is, and the wind just makes it that much worse. I'm afraid of another flood. That, of course, only makes me think of Mace and Nerissa, and I'm right back to the pit in my stomach.

We head back towards the lagoon, trying to make our way back to the caves. We're careful to avoid the poppies though. We're careful to avoid a lot of things, and I can tell it's making Cato antsy. He basically says as much.

"It's taking too long." He casts a glance to the side, and I can see the tension clear on his face.

"I know," is all I can say in response.

I don't know why the Gamemakers have allowed it to stretch on this long, but I know that the end must be coming soon. The knowledge that I'll either be a victor or dead in the next few days is nearly crippling, but I keep moving. There's no point in stopping now. I'm so close. I have to keep going.

We walk quietly for hours. On some level, I'm praying that we'll run into Mace and Nerissa, just so that we can get this thing over with. I know Cato feels the same.

Apparently so do the Gamemakers.

The earth begins to shake beneath my feet, and I stumble sideways into a tree. I frantically look over to Cato, but he's stable on the shaking ground. Then there's a loud clanging noise. I wince as it ricochets through the air, and the earth shifts again. It tilts, and we're both sliding down towards the lagoon.

I look up, trying to stop the world from spinning all around me, and that's when I hear it.

"Well look what we have here," someone drawls.

My vision clears, and Mace is there. Everything in my body constricts and then expands, forcing me to my feet. Cato is already prepared, sword in hand. I clutch my knife so tightly that my knuckles turn white. And then Nerissa strides up beside him.

"I always knew I'd be seeing you here, Cato," Mace continues before his gaze shifts to me. "I've got to say though, birdy, I didn't expect you to make it this far. But that'll only make this more fun. Won't it, Nerissa?"

The girl in question smirks beside him, but there's something different, something off about it. It looks tired, and not nearly as confident as I remember. She's looking worse for wear—so is Mace for that matter—but I know that we don't look any better.

My stomach drops. This is it.

Cato walks closer to the pair, his pace near leisurely. "Maybe you could win this if you didn't talk so much," Cato says before he's moving, so quickly I barely know what's happening.

Him and Mace collide, and the fight has officially begun. I look long enough to see Cato punch him in the face, but then my attention is drawn away.

"Let's see what you got, Twelve," Nerissa says, as she paces in front of me.

There's a small limp in her walk, and I catalogue it because it might be her only weakness. I don't know what she's waiting for as she circles me. If she wants me to attack first, it's not going to happen. My body screams at me to move, but I can't give up the defensive.

"Are you going to tell me how you've managed to survive this long?"

"You're more than welcome to ask," I say, taking a step to the side as she continues to circle me.

"Has big, bad Cato been taking care of you?"

I take a deep breath, trying to slow my rapidly beating heart. "I said you could ask. Not that I would answer."

She glares, and she's nearer to me all of the sudden. I don't know how I missed her inching closer. I'm in her range, and I can practically see her fingers itching to use her trident. I should move, but my limbs are glued to the ground.

"I don't need you to answer. He can't protect you now."

And she's right. My eyes flit sideways as Mace slams Cato back against a tree. Cato head butts him and I hear something crack. I can't watch him though.

I look over to Nerissa just in time to see her lunge towards me. I lurch sideways, her shoulder hitting mine and sending me stumbling. My head is foggy and so is my vision, but a blurry figure moves towards me and I know it's her. I kick my leg out and it hits her weak ankle. She falls to the ground beside me, and I struggle to push myself away from her reach. I can barely feel the throbbing in my limbs as we both stumble to our feet.

I sprint forward, but I'm not fast enough. Her trident slashes across my back and it screams with pain. I cry out, but I keep going. Ignoring the pain, I pivot on the spot, facing Nerissa. I make a mental note not to turn my back on her again. I distantly hear the sound of metal on metal. Nerissa's heavy breathing reaches my ears.

Part of me just wants to give up, to collapse on the dirt and let her kill me. The pain in my back and my head is blinding, but I can feel the adrenaline shooting through my body and I grab onto it as tightly as I can.

She comes at me again, and I'm thrown to the ground. She's pinning me down, one knee digging into my arm with the knife and the other pulling at my hair. I don't know where the trident went. I could die any second, but if I can, I'm going to make her suffer with me.

I put my hand on her face and shove back. She slips to the side just enough for me to yank my arm free. I slice the knife towards her, but she dodges it just quick enough so it only leaves a shallow cut on her cheek. I bring my other hand back and punch her in the throat. She reels back, gasping for breath.

I flail beneath her, trying to throw her off. I can feel bile in my throat and searing pain in my back, but I don't stop. With the punch to her throat and my flailing limbs, she can't stay on top. I push myself up and she dives towards me again, and I have no choice but to fling the knife towards her. She blocks her face with her hand, and the knife lodges in her palm. She screams, and I push myself to my feet as she dislodges it.

Someone cries out, and I can't tell if it's Cato or Mace. I want to check, but I don't. I don't know what to do, because my body just feels too slow, but I have to push through.

Something glinting catches my eye, and I realize that it's her trident. We spot it at the same time, and we both lunge. The metal is warm in my grip as my hand closes around it, but she tackles me before I can make a move. We wrestle on the ground for the object, but my grip slips on the metal and she wrenches it from my grasp. My shoulder jerks with the movement, and then the butt of the weapon collides with my cheek. I thrash but it's useless. She'll kill me, I know it.

I'm not wrong because everything is still for a moment, and then I swing my knife towards her chest as the tips of the trident slide through the flesh in my side. The scream that pushes out of my throat is agonized as heat and excruciating pain explodes throughout every nerve in my body.

I barely notice her slipping off of me. I'm paralyzed on the ground, my body in absolute agony. I can feel the energy flood out of the wound in my side as the blood pools beneath me. My head lolls to the side, and I see Nerissa struggling to push herself up. I know that I should get up too or I'm going to die right here, but everything my brain says is drowned out by the searing pain in my limbs. My head drifts to the other side, and I think I can make out Cato and Mace. I can't tell who is who, and my head drifts back to Nerissa.

She presses a hand into her chest, and I can see the red flowing over the fingers. The word flies to my mind, bouncing around and forcing me to listen. _Survive_ , it screams. My entire body quivers with the effort, but I manage to push myself to my feet just as Nerissa stands slowly. I grab another knife from my vest despite the protest in my limbs. I'll die if I don't do this. I still might. But I have to.

I stick the knife out to the side, and then we move together. I don't know what happens as we collide on the ground, because then she's suddenly falling away from me and my knife is gone. I cough and I can taste metal in my mouth, and everything hurts, but it's fading. I roll to the side with the thought of getting up, but my body doesn't cooperate, so I give up. I look over to where Nerissa had fallen, and I see something black sticking up from her abdomen. It gets blurrier with every second, but it's clear to me what's happening.

I'll be dead soon.

Nerissa lays unmoving on the ground beside me, and I wonder if maybe she's dying too. I can't hear a cannon though. Does that mean Cato's still alive? I try to crane my head to see because I can't hear anything, but my head doesn't move. My muscles are too tired. I think I laugh, even though it's completely out of place. I came so close, and I'm going to die. Maybe Cato can still win. I hope he does, even if it's without me. It makes my chest hurt though, even though I can't feel anything else, because I'm going to let Mabel and Mr. Fairbain and Haymitch and everyone down.

Has there been a cannon yet?

No.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, as I let my eyes drift shut and myself drift under.

No matter what happens now, it's over.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **AHHH, so the arena is finally over. There's only one more chapter left. I don't know how to feel, guys. This story took me over a year to write and now it's almost over... But worry not. Winter break is coming up for me, so there may or may not be some one-shots/specials coming your way. If you guys have any requests for things you'd like to see in them, let me know in the reviews or send me a message! In addition, I have two playlists created for this story. One is a list of pretty much every song that I listened to/inspired me while writing, and that's almost 300 songs. The other is the unofficial, official soundtrack. I'm hoping to get them on Spotify and potentially 8tracks, but we'll see how that goes.**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Briar did indeed hang on. Proud of my girl**

 **Mely-the-Mockingjay: They say to write what you know, and I'm certainly a little like Briar in that sense. It just came easier to write her being somewhat socially timid/uncomfortable.**

 **WhiteEevee: Coming up with ideas of other Games was honestly one of the most interesting and fun things because it just allowed for a lot of creativity. And Cato probably did enjoy that class lol. I really enjoy writing those one-liners too. He's just so easy because he's so distinct. Not gonna lie, I was very attached to the ending there. It was probably about the second or third thing I wrote when thinking up this story, and I was determined to make it fit.**

 **FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: But playing with feelings is half the fun ):... I kid, I kid. Hope this chapter makes up for it!**

 **SecretsWithSouls00: We shall see what happens...**

 **Phew, that's all for now, guys. Hope all of you in the US had a good Thanksgiving, and that you enjoyed the chapter!**


	27. Chapter 26: A Brand New Game

**Hey, guys! Sorry I've fallen off the face of the earth and haven't had the chance to add any oneshots... school is killing me right now. But as promised, here is the playlist that I listened to/made while writing this story. The "soundtrack" will be up soon (I hope). Anyway, hope you guys like it. It's on spotify: thisisnotahorcrux.**

* * *

 **Chapter 26: A Brand New Game**

I always thought it was a cliché, the thing people said about death and the feeling of floating. But I don't think so anymore, because it's true, I do feel like I'm floating. My limbs are so light, it's like they're not even there. Maybe that's why I'm not scared—because nothing hurts. It's the least death can do, all things considered.

So why do I still feel like something is pushing me down? The pressure is cool on my skin. But that can't be right. I'm dead. I don't have skin.

I ignore it. I ignore anything that tries to pull me from this.

That only works for so long though. Some weird static noise fills the air. What the hell? I thought death was supposed to be peaceful. Apparently I was wrong.

I feel like I'm being prodded. What's happening?

"She's waking up. Give her 10 milliliters."

What? Who's waking up?

There's an explosion of pain through my body, and I realize it's me they're talking about. I cry out when something stabs into my side, and I try to move away but I can't.

"On second thought, give her 15. And hold her still."

There's a shot of pain, and then everything feels light again. The only thing I think before I slip under is that I'm not dead.

And that means I've won the Hunger Games.

* * *

There's nothing but a steady beeping. It grates on my ears.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep._

It needs to stop, because it's way too loud.

I release a groan and open my eyes, but they snap closed immediately when bright lights flood in.

Is it always this bright when you die?

But then I remember that I'm not dead. At least, I don't think I am.

Something twists in my stomach. Anxiety, disbelief, guilt, fear—they're all there. My eyes fly open and I try to sit up, but something stops any movement I try to make.

It's a belt, and this all feels too familiar.

The room looks exactly the same as the one from last time, too bright and too clean. I don't need anyone to tell me that I'm back in the Capitol.

"Good evening, tribute Kinross. Or should I say, Victor Kinross," someone says.

I crane my neck up to get a better look, and I immediately recognize the man from the last time I was in the hospital. He moves next to my bed, staring at the monitors beside me.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

I squint up at him because I can't do anything else. It's too bright, and it's making my head throb.

"Okay," I say, but it sounds like a croak. My throat is dry from disuse, and suddenly the only thing I want to do is drink something. He doesn't offer me anything to drink though, and I don't ask because it hurts too much.

"Your vitals look good. Ah, but it seems there's still some bruising on your brain. See this red bit here?" he says, pointing at a picture with a sigh. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you back to sleep."

The beeping in the room speeds up, matching the pace of my heart.

"What?" I croak, but he ignores me.

He presses a button on a machine next to me, and everything is blurry in an instant. I can feel myself slipping under once again, but this time, I don't try to fight it.

* * *

It happens similarly the next time I wake up. There's bright, white lights and the same sterile smell, except now there's no incessant beeping. But I don't sit still this time. I start panicking because I'm afraid they're going to knock me out again. But then I realize that there's no strap on my waist and there aren't any wires sticking out of my arm.

"Hey, relax, kid. Relax."

My head whips to the side, and my eyes land on my mentor.

I try to say his name, but I just end up coughing. Suddenly there's a cup pressed up against my lips, and I accept the liquid easily. I gulp it down so quickly that I end up coughing again.

"You good?" Haymitch asks when my coughing finally subsides.

"I… I won?" is what I find myself saying in response.

He nods. "Yeah, you did."

I don't know how this happened. I don't understand any of it. My eyes widen and I can feel my heart rate beginning to speed up.

"Cato. What happened—"

"He's fine. Been fully healed up for about a week and a half."

Cato is okay, and I'm alive.

"We won," I say this time. It's impossible to keep the disbelief out of my voice. And it's impossible to feel happy about it.

It hits me suddenly that I've won the Hunger Games. That out of forty-eight children, I'm one of two who has survived.

"I thought I was dead."

He sighs. "For a second there, so did I."

I feel like crying all of the sudden, but I don't really understand why. "I don't get it. How did this happen?"

"Cato killed One, you killed Four."

I knew that, I guess. But it doesn't change the way I feel. I want to ask him again about what happened, but I know that I'll find out eventually. There's no way I can escape the truth. And even though it feels wrong, I hold off on finding out for just a bit longer because I'm too afraid to hear the truth.

"How long has it been since the Games?"

"A little more than two weeks," he tells me.

I don't have anything to say in response to that. Two weeks is a long time. Usually there's only a couple days between the end of the Games and the recap—a week at most. I look down at my body, or at least the parts that are exposed. The skin is smooth and clear of any scarring. For the first time, I realize that my head doesn't hurt either.

"Why did it take so long?"

"Seven did a number on your head. They were concerned about remaining damage," says Haymitch.

I frown. Cato's been fine for a week and half, and I'm still here. Well, I guess that I probably won't be for too much longer. That's why I'm not strapped down anymore.

"Get dressed," Haymitch says, nodding his head towards a set of clothes laid out for me. I didn't even realize they were there. "Come down the hall when you're done."

He leaves the room and I really have no choice but to do what he says. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand still for a moment. When I'm sure they're not going to collapse beneath me, I make my way over to the clothes. It's the outfit that I wore in the arena, or at least a new, clean version of it. I'm tempted to rip it to shreds. I could use the blanket for clothes. But in the end, I put it on, ignoring how it makes my skin burn.

The hallway is cold and empty, but I can see a door at the end. I assume it's what Haymitch meant. Despite the eagerness I feel to see my team—to see a piece of home—I find myself slowing down. Down here, I'm nothing. But the moment I walk through that opening, I'm back to being a tribute—no, a Victor of the Hunger Games. I'm back to being property of the Capitol. But it's ridiculous of me to think that there's any real difference between here and there, so only moments later, I find myself pulling the door open.

The first thing I see is a flash of yellow hair, and then I'm being enveloped in a hug. "There you are," Effie says, squeezing me tightly. "Oh, I'm so happy to see you."

"I'm happy to see you too," I say, because I am. Because that means I'm not dead.

I pull back from her, and then for the next ten minutes, it feels like the only thing I'm doing is hugging people. Nobody says congratulations to me. But I find that I like it that way. The things I did to get back here don't deserve any congratulations.

"I'm glad you're back, Briar," Peeta says as he pulls back. "I knew you could do it."

I smile weakly. "Thanks."

The last person I hug is Haymitch, who then tells me that we need to head upstairs to get ready for tonight. Even after the Games are over, it doesn't end. I'll still be here a couple of days for the recap and the interview. But then I can go home. I smile to myself before a feeling of apprehension settles low in my stomach. I get to go home. I can see Mr. Fairbain and Mabel again. I'll be able to the see the trees and breathe the air of district Twelve instead of all the artificial lights and air of the city.

But it won't be the same, no matter how much I wish it would be. I'm not the same. There's a prickling at the back of my neck and the urge to check over my shoulder every few seconds. Who knows what they'll think of me now. The thought makes my head ache so I try to forget about it.

The hospital is located beneath the training center, so it's a only a short ride up to the lobby. The door slides open, and a wave of nerves hits me. Images of arriving in the Capitol for the first time fill my head, carrying the same heavy weight with it. I tell myself that I'm being ridiculous, because the arena is over.

The sound of someone calling Haymitch's name draws me out of my thoughts. My eyes land on Plutarch Heavensbee, who happens to be walking towards us.

"Good afternoon," he says with a smile.

I try to smile in return but it doesn't work. This is the man responsible for the hell I just went through. It's all I can do not to punch him in the face.

"Congratulations, Ms. Kinross. It was a well fought battle," he says. "If you'll all excuse us, I'd like a quick word with Mr. Abernathy."

No one protests, though there are some looks of concern and confusion overcoming the group. I hear Katniss whisper to Peeta, asking him what it could be about, but he shrugs and says, "I don't know." I don't care. I just want to be out of his presence.

I watch the two men walk away, and something on the far side of the room catches my eye. I feel something like relief settle in me.

Cato stands off to the side, watching the two men as well. I'm making my way over to him before I even know what I'm doing. I don't think my brain is working right now, which is probably a good thing. If it isn't, then I can't think about the arena.

"Where are you going?" Effie calls from behind me.

I look at her over my shoulder and say, "I'll be right back."

They must have some idea of what I'm doing because no one tries to stop me or asks anything further. When I turn back around, Cato is looking in our direction, and I pick up my pace. But I slow down when I'm about fifteen feet away because I have no idea what to say. Of course, I run out of room pretty quickly, and then I'm left standing awkwardly in front of him.

"Hey," I say, because it's the only thing I can think of. He isn't wearing the outfit from the arena, and it makes me jealous of him.

"Finally awake, huh?" he says by way of greeting.

His eyes scan over me for a second, narrowing at my clothes, but he doesn't say anything about them. I try not to wince when I remember that he's been ready to go home for a while, and I've prevented him.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

He ignores my apology and continues on. "How's the head? I'm assuming that's what took so long."

"It's good," I say, feeling some of the tension ease. "They fixed it up, I guess. I wasn't really awake for any of it though, so…"

We lapse into silence for a second, and I let myself look at him. I don't really know what I'm searching for, but I can't stop. He looks tired. And there's this sort of look in his eye that seems frustrated or angry. But I don't hear any of that in his voice, so I think I must be imagining it. I also note that his skin looks as clean as mine, so that's the next thing that comes out of my mouth.

"You look better," I say and then immediately wince. "I mean, you look healed and everything. They got rid of all your cuts too."

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. "Yeah, they did. Most of them at least."

I want to ask him what that means, but the way he says it makes it seem like it's not open to conversation.

"How… how are you?" I ask, because I'm genuinely curious.

He's been awake for a week and a half. He's had plenty of time to think about the Games.

He's quiet for a second that stretches on just a bit too long. That same weird look fills his eyes, but then it's gone and he's shrugging. "I'm fine," he says.

Fine, but not good. I don't know why I think that means anything, but I do. Maybe I do have lasting brain damage.

"You?"

I shrug. "Don't know, " I say honestly. I stopped lying to Cato in the arena, and I see no reason to pick it back up now. "I only woke up a half hour ago. I haven't had too much time to think about anything."

He nods his head and we fall back into silence. I consider saying goodbye and heading back to my team, but I know that there was a reason I came over here. But I don't have time to figure it out because Cato begins speaking again.

"You were careless," he says, and I don't think I'm imagining the small frown on his face.

I cross my arms over my chest. "What you do mean?"

"When you were alone in the arena. Sleeping out in the open, defenseless. Wandering around at night, lighting fires," he lists off. "You could have gotten yourself killed."

Despite my defensiveness, I can't help but frown at his tone. He's not yelling, or mad, or mocking. He sounds more confused than anything.

"There were a million different things in that arena that could have killed me, Cato, but I survived."

How that happened, I still don't understand.

"I know," he says, just as seriously.

"How do you know about what I was doing when I was alone, anyway?"

"I wasn't unconscious when we got out of the arena," he says with raised eyebrows. "You've been out for a couple of days, and clips from the Games were the only thing on TV."

"You've seen the whole recap?" I feel nauseous as soon as the words leave my mouth. I don't want to see any of it.

"No," he answers. "Neither of us will until tonight, and even then, it's only the highlights."

I don't know what else to say, and thankfully I don't have to think of anything because Zella comes bounding down the hallway and into the lobby.

"There you are, Cato. I've been looking for you everywhere." She turns to me, apparently just realizing my presence. "Oh, I didn't see you there, darling. How are you?"

I barely mumble out a "fine," before she's turning towards Cato again.

"Come, come. We can't keep everyone waiting," she says, directing him back towards the elevator.

"See you around, Briar," he says, before he lets her lead him away.

I stand there staring until the doors close and they're completely out of sight. My stomach begins to churn when I think of what will happen in a few hours. I force myself to calm down because it's not like any of it can be avoided. Then I make my way back to my team.

"You alright?" Katniss asks when I reach them. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Oh, um, yeah. I'm just nervous about tonight," I say when I notice her glaring at the spot Cato had occupied a few seconds ago. Her face softens when I finish speaking. She gets what I'm worried about. I'm sure they all do.

Haymitch returns to us a few minutes later, scowling, and my stomach drops. What could Heavensbee have needed to talk to him about? He brushes Peeta off when he asks what's the matter, saying that it's nothing, and I get the distinct feeling that it's the exact opposite. But before I can comment, we're being rushed into the elevator, and I have a whole new set of worries because my prep team swarms me the second the doors open.

"You were wonderful!—We're so glad you won!—Our Victor!" they all gush, and I can't breathe.

I also can't decide if I'm happy to see them or not. They're completely harmless, sure, but with the way they always prattle on about unimportant things, I can't help but hate them just a little bit.

I'm whisked off to my old room and stripped down, ready to be dressed up for tonight.

"Oh, just look at how skinny she's become," I hear Garrick whisper to Cleo, and I can't help but look towards the mirror.

He's right, of course. I can't deny that when I see my reflection. Despite being in that hospital for weeks, I'm still thinner than normal, every part of me shrunken to less than it was before. A pathetic excuse for a person. I scan over my limbs. The cuts and broken bones are repaired, the dark bruises faded. It's proof that I'm healing, that at least my outside is mended. It does nothing for the pieces on the inside. Those bruises haven't begun to fade. I don't even know how deep they run. I don't know if they'll ever heal. I've survived the Hunger Games, but the longer I'm awake, the more I begin to wonder if that's true.

Except I don't have time to think like that. Do I? The Games are over, so do I still have to pretend like everything's okay? Not all Victors look that way. Most just stand there, speaking in short sentences. Some look ready to flee while others look ready to break down. Then there are the ones who scream in excitement, reveling in their win. They're usually Careers. Will Cato be like that? I hope not, because then I'll definitely have to pretend like I'm okay, since we're teammates and all. But he doesn't look very happy. Maybe I should ask Haymitch.

I'm so lost in my own thoughts, that I barely realize what's going on around me. That's probably a good thing though, because then I don't have to listen to my prep team.

Soon enough, my team is done, and Cinna's walking into the room, carrying a black bag.

I can't see the dress clearly when he pulls it from the bag and over my head. But when I turn to see myself in the mirror, I can't stop staring. I barely recognize myself. The dress is made from a sheer, light looking fabric, but black and blue lines run from top to bottom. They look like veins and vines and branches wrapping around my body, and when I look close enough, I can see small silver birds resting on the vine-like pieces. It goes all the way down to the floor with a skirt that puffs out somewhat. And I'm in heels. Again. I'm glad for it though because that means I get to focus on not tripping instead of everything else that's happening.

My hair flows loosely around my shoulders, and my nails have been perfectly reshaped and painted in a dark blue. The only thing not that done up is my makeup. For once, I don't have sharp bird features. Instead, the look is simple in comparison. There is only a thin coat of black makeup lining my eyelids and a light color on my lips. To be honest, I have no clue what look Cinna is going for. All I know is that I like it better than all the rest. It makes me feel strong, but not like I'm pretending to be invincible. I almost laugh at myself, because that sounds ridiculous.

"It's beautiful, Cinna."

"I thought it tied in a little bit of the old and a little bit of the new," he tells me, wrapping my sister's bracelet around my wrist and securing it there. "I wanted to show everyone just how strong you are. Now let's go. We have an event to get you to."

My heart feels like it's going to beat right out my chest when we arrive backstage. It's made even worse by the fact that all of my mentors look agitated. I don't have any time to ask them what's the matter because I'm being pulled away to where I'll enter on stage.

The place smells musty, like it hasn't been used in a while. Which makes sense, since they probably only use it for the Games. There's a large metal platform in front of me, but there's nothing else to see. The place is completely empty, except for the sound of Capitol cheers filling the air. I think I'm going to be sick.

I'm not really sure how they'll announce everyone tonight. They had to change things for Katniss and Peeta last year, and obviously they'll have to change it again—seeing as Cato and I are from different districts. I wonder what would happen if I didn't step onto the platform and it rose without me.

"You ready?"

I whirl around to see Cato standing behind me, and the nausea relents a little.

"No," I say honestly. I'm too tired to convince him or myself otherwise.

His eyebrows draw together at my honesty. But then he nods like he understands. I wonder if he does.

"You?" I ask.

"I guess," he says with a shrug. "Can't be as bad the second time, right?"

He looks away, and I get the feeling that he didn't mean to say that out loud. I don't think he's right about it not being as bad, but saying that won't help anything.

"You don't look like a bird anymore," Cato says, his head tilting to the side as he inspects my outfit.

I raise my eyes back to his and shrug. "Cinna said he wanted to do something different."

I let my eyes trail over Cato's form. He looks healthy and strong. He looks like a real Victor. He doesn't seem like he lost any weight either. I must look miniscule in comparison. And I can't help but notice that his crisp blue suit and black tie goes perfectly with my dress.

"It looks like our stylists coordinated," I tell him, nodding to his outfit. "We match."

He glances between us and says, "Yeah, I guess we do. Makes sense. Since we're a team and all."

The use of the word team loosens some of the tightness in my chest. I thought that maybe Cato would be done with me after the Games ended. But he's been nothing but pleasant—well, the two times I've seen him—and that's oddly comforting. I did just spend almost three weeks in a living hell with him, I remind myself. He's the only person I've been able to trust in that time.

My eyes widen at the unconscious admission. I try to convince myself that it was a slip up, but the truth is, I trusted Cato with my life in the arena, especially in those last few days when my head was all messed up.

"You alright?"

My eyes snap to his. He's looking at me like he's concerned. Or like I might break. I remind myself that I'm supposed to look strong. This really isn't the time for any revelations.

"Yeah, I just remembered something."

"If you say so," he says, and then the countdown is beginning. I must have missed them announcing our teams.

My heart rate skyrockets, and I can't hear anything but screams. I move to plug my ears, but then Cato's standing on the platform, wordlessly holding his elbow out to me. I stare at it for a second, and then take a step up, hooking my arm around his. Then the platform rises, and I'm nearly blinded by flashing lights.

I realize we're in the center of the stage, the Capitol and their cheers completely surrounding us. I'm too overwhelmed to move, so I just stand there numbly. I think Cato is waving because the cheers pick up. He nudges my shoulder almost imperceptibly, and I snap out of my daze. He _is_ waving, so I start doing the same. We stand there like that for a few minutes—arms linked, hands waving, and false smiles plastered on our faces. Well, I think Cato's is false. It looks too big to be real, and I've never seen him smile like that. But then again, maybe that means it's the real one.

My cheeks hurt from fake smiling after a few minutes, and I'm relieved when Caesar finally draws us to our seats. Two chairs rest side by side, which makes me a little nervous. That means I'm going to have let go of Cato's arm, and I think he's the only thing keeping the knot in my chest from expanding and breaking me apart. It's such a strange thought, but that doesn't make it any less true. How does anyone do this on their own?

There isn't a lot of talk when we take our seats. They have to get right into the recap. _Wouldn't want to run over the allotted three hours._ Who knows what would happen then.

Both our teams sit behind us. I'm unhappy with the arrangement. I don't know where to look now, which means that I can't really avoid the screen.

The lights in the City Circle dim, and it starts. A shiver runs down my spine before the bloodbath even begins, and I know it's going to be a long night. I wasn't ready for any of this when it came to entering the arena, and I'm not any more ready now. Especially because I have to watch every single death.

The first shot on screen is a replay of Caesar's little special on me and Cato. The story of our connection laid out once again. Then it's the pre-arena announcement of teams, each partner side by side. Then the Bloodbath starts and it's chaos. I have to look down when Ivory yanks my hood and our fight starts. It's not like I don't know how this ends. I remember how angry I felt, how I wanted her dead, and I really don't want to see the look on my face because I'm pretty sure I'll be afraid of what I see. It's obvious when the fight ends because the crowd is cheering, and I can feel Cato's eyes on the side of my head. They're gone in a second though.

I hear the familiar shout of "Move!" and my eyes move back to the screen. It's a boy from Eleven yelling to a girl from Five. Were they friends? I really hope not when I see a trident pierce her chest as he stands and watches.

Soon enough the Bloodbath ends and the story begins. It's hard to tell what they're going for at first. There's a lot of time spent on Cato and I, since we won and all. We do more talking than most of the other groups, but it's mostly arguing. Topaz and Rowan are the only pair that really gets along it seems, but then she dies in the flood that nearly killed both Cato and me.

The camera flashes from group to group, or tribute to tribute since a lot of people lost their partners, and I still can't tell where they're going with this. It flashes from silent groups and silent tributes to Cato and I arguing. From relatively peaceful to harsh words and hatred. Over and over and over. It's almost funny when I think about the love story from last year. If I were an outside spectator, I'd be shocked that we didn't kill each other based off this video.

It looks particularly bad after Cato kills Tilver. I feel a little bad about how harsh I was, because it's clear from the video that Tilver ambushed him, and he didn't look very happy about killing him. Of course, video me doesn't know that, so it's just more fighting. That is, until we're separated.

Then it focuses on Mace and Nerissa and their conversations heavily laden with undertones of superiority and hostility. Then it shifts suddenly to Zeppina and her partner, and I don't think I'm ever going to understand what they're going for here. The person who put this together will probably get fired because they haven't done a very good job of telling a story.

The audience gasps when Zeppina shoots a poisoned dart into her partner's neck, and I have to suppress my own. The act of betrayal settles heavily in my body, and I can't help but feeling glad that she didn't win. I had my suspicions, of course, but it's a lot worse seeing it. Especially since Cato's sitting right beside me and we both know how he was poisoned. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, our fight about me not killing Zeppina playing over in my head. He's staring straight at the screen though, and I can't read a thing on his face.

Of course, they show him getting poisoned too, and then it's all Cato and me again. Me finding him, killing Ten, taking care of him. Heat rises to my cheeks when I see how frantic I look. I know that it's because I was afraid of being alone and afraid of how that made me act. But no one watching this can see in my head, so it just looks like I'm really concerned about Cato. They show that particular conversation in full—when I admit to no longer hating him—and I'm starting to get a better idea of what they're trying to show.

From then on they show a lot less of Cato and I arguing. It's still there of course because we did a lot of it in the arena, but they cut a lot of it out. As the story goes on, they cut between us and Mace and Nerissa. We're getting along more and more, while they're getting along less and less.

And then I'm being attacked by the boy from Seven. Cato looks almost crazed as him and the boy fight, and I lie weakly on the ground. I've never seen Cato look so angry. But then the boy is dead and Cato isn't angry. He looks like I did when I was taking care of him: frantic.

I can't help but stare wide-eyed at the screen, because even though I knew Cato saved me, I wasn't expecting this. The story plays on, and there's more flashing between the two final groups, and then it's the finale. The audience gasps over every little bit despite having already seen it. A cannon fires and the uncertainty of whom it's for takes up a few seconds. I see myself lying there, bleeding out, and it's like the wound is fresh. I blink several times to stop the room from spinning, but then Claudius Templesmith is announcing us as Victors. The last shot is of Cato crouching on ground beside me, staying there until the Capitol doctors draw us away into the hovercraft.

My eyes linger on the screen even as the images fade because I know exactly what kind of story they were trying to tell—did tell. Somehow, they managed tell a story of how Cato and I went from pure hatred to an actual partnership—bordering on friendship if you rely on the recap—in three hours. It's not exactly Katniss and Peeta, the girl on fire and the boy who's loved her since he was five, but it's still pretty dramatic when I consider how the recap began. I guess it's pretty good in terms of entertainment, and that makes me feel both a little better and a little bitter. I've played right into their hands, but I'm alive, so I can't complain too much. Not when forty-six other kids are dead.

I feel Cato tap my shoulder, and I stand quickly because the anthem is playing, and I can see President Snow walking towards us. Light flashes off the two crowns being carried by a little girl, and I have to fight the urge to look away. Or to run away. I don't want the crown, because nothing I've done should be treated with honor. But I can't look away. Not with Snow's eyes staring down at me. I feel uneasy, and it's like the room has dropped ten degrees.

Snow lifts the first gold grown, walking towards me with a smile stretched across his mouth. It looks feral. I smile wide in return, praying that I don't look as afraid as I really am.

"Congratulations, Ms. Kinross. You played the game well," he says, placing the crown on my head. "Many in the Capitol went out of their way to support you. I hope you'll find a way to return the favor in the future."

The smile slips from my face, and my heart thuds quickly. But I put it back when he congratulates me again, because I can see Cato staring out of the corner of my eye and that reminds me that I'm on camera. But even as I'm smiling, I can feel my insides tightening as panic begins to take over. I know without a doubt that I've just been threatened. And I have no idea why.

There's nothing but buzzing in my ears as we bow and wave and the Capitol cheers. It goes on forever, and it's getting really difficult to pretend like I'm not freaking out. Finally, Caesar says goodnight, reminding us and everyone else that he'll see us again at the interview tomorrow.

I'm practically pushed off stage, Effie saying something about a tight schedule. Cato looks at me while we all wait for the cars to bring us to Snow's mansion, and I can tell he wants to say something. He doesn't get a chance though, because the cars arrive and I'm pulled away.

It's not like I would know what to say to him anyway. Did Snow threaten him too? I contemplate telling Haymitch the whole ride over, but I never get a chance because something is always happening. And once we arrive, there's really no chance to talk. It's more smiling and pictures with overenthusiastic Capitol residents eager to meet the newest Victors. Cato and I aren't together the whole time, but when we are, I can tell that he's suspicious. We're never left alone, but even if we were, I don't know if I'd tell him.

The whole thing is a blur, because despite my fake smile, I can't focus on anything other than the pulse pounding in my ears. But it also seems to go on forever, and I think I'm going to crack until I'm finally dragged back to our floor in the Training Center. Even though I've spent most of the last two weeks sleeping, I can feel the exhaustion taking over. It doesn't creep up on me, but attacks the moment I step off the elevator, swallowing me whole. I stumble my way to my room without so much as a goodbye, and when I collapse in bed, it's with flashes of the arena and President Snow's words whispered in my ear.

I don't get much sleep. When Effie barrels into my room, telling me it's time to get ready, I move on autopilot. I really try not to let myself think too much. I need to get through this, and then I can worry about what Snow meant.

While the prep team scuttles around me, I hear their thoughts and assurances of how great the recap was, which does nothing to make me feel better. Then Cinna comes in, and I'm zipped into a blue lace dress. I don't even have time to see myself before I'm rushed to the interview.

"The interview was in the main room last year," Peeta says when we enter the elevator. "I guess they couldn't decide on a floor."

I nod along to his words, and it really only hits me now how difficult this is: having two winners. At least last year Katniss and Peeta were from the same district, but Cato and I are practically from different sides of Panem. I'm sure who's ever in charge of logistics isn't very happy right now because both of us living makes everything more difficult.

My eyes widen when it strikes me, the sickening feeling that this wasn't supposed to happen. We weren't both supposed to live. Snow's words come rushing back to me, and I get the distinct, horrifying feeling that it was supposed to be me. I was supposed to die.

I force myself to stay calm because the doors open and I can see everything set up for the interview. I can't look freaked out on national television. That won't help anything.

There's a small white couch in the center of a room and a chair across from it. People are rushing about everywhere, trying to get things in order. My eyes immediately land on Caesar, and the lights flashing on his blue suit. He's talking to Cato, who's wearing a nice black suit. He looks like he's okay at the moment, which is good, because he's much better in front of a camera than I am. And with the way my stomach keeps churning, I don't know how much help I'll be.

Someone must alert Caesar to my presence because he's suddenly waving me over.

"Congratulations," he says, hugging me tightly. "Are you ready for the interview?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I say with a small laugh that sounds horribly fake to my own ears. I really hope no one else notices.

"Good. There's no need to be nervous," he tells me with a smile. "You're wonderful in front of the camera."

I can tell that he's trying to be reassuring, because what he said isn't really true. But I feel a little better because I know that Caesar always does his best to make the tributes look good, so hopefully I won't make a complete idiot of myself. Or worse, make Snow even angrier.

He moves away when someone asks him about lighting and then it's just me and Cato. He doesn't waste any time, turning to me and asking, "What did Snow say to you?"

His voice is hushed, like he doesn't want anyone to listen. He probably doesn't, because I'm sure he realizes that President Snow whispering things to you isn't a good sign. Still, I don't want to say anything. I haven't even decided if I'm going to tell Haymitch.

"He just congratulated me," I tell him even though the other words I really want to say sit on the tip of my tongue.

I know he doesn't believe me, but the conversation is over because suddenly we're being seated and the countdown to the interview is beginning. Cato and I sit next to each other, and when he raises his arm and places it behind me on the top of the couch, I can't help but stare at him. He just raises an eyebrow at me, and turns back to Caesar when the countdown hits zero.

There's no time for adjustment, because Caesar delves right into action. Talking, joking, asking questions that I really don't want to answer. Thankfully some of them are easy to fake my way through. But Cato is much better than I am. He's confident and sure, while I try not to stumble my way through an explanation. It would be a lot easier if he could just answer all the questions, and the audience would probably enjoy it more. I'm a little confused by how he's acting though. He's too charming, making jokes and laughing at everything Caesar says. It doesn't matter though, because I can see Haymitch waving his hand around behind the camera, telling me to speak up more.

"I've got to say, it seems like quite a journey you two had to go through to get here," Caesar says. "There were times when I could practically feel the tension between you. Why did you make such an effort to work together?"

Caesar turns to me, and I know that I'm meant to answer the question. "It's like I said before the Games. Cato is a tough competitor, and I knew that I had a better shot with him." Haymitch looks unhappy with my answer, so I rush to continue. I really don't know what I'm doing.

"At least that's how I felt at first," I add, and Caesar looks a million times more interested. I can feel Cato's eyes on me and I try not to fidget.

"What changed?"

"I… I don't really know," I say, which isn't a lie. "I just know that when I was alone, I realized that Cato wasn't the person I thought he was. And I really didn't want him to die if we had any shot of making it out together."

Of course, I don't say that I saved him because I was lonely, afraid that I was going crazy, and then somewhere along the way I decided that I didn't want him to die, because then I'll have to explain that, which is a problem because I don't really understand it myself. But Caesar smiles and Haymitch nods, and I practically sink in relief.

"And what about you, Cato? What's your take on what happened in the arena?"

"You know, Caesar, it wasn't always easy. I'm sure you all saw that, well... let's just say we didn't always see eye to eye," Cato says.

Caesar laughs like it's some great joke, and maybe it is.

"We did. We did see that," Caesar says with a laugh and smile. "A lot of butting heads."

"It couldn't be helped at first," Cato smiles again for the camera, and I'm unsure about how he's acting. "She's just too stubborn."

I scoff and shake my head. "I'm not nearly as stubborn as you."

I startle and even Cato flinches slightly beside me at Caesar's boisterous laugh. He recovers quickly though, and a smirk is in place so fast that I think I might have imagined it.

"It's like I said, she just likes to contradict me."

"And what about you, Briar? Anything you'd like to add?"

I laugh and shake my head. "No, Caesar. At least not anything that Cato would agree with." I smirk at the boy next to me and he shakes his head. I think we're doing okay even though Cato is confusing me, and the smile I give Caesar comes easier.

Caesar laughs again. "That's probably true." He leans closer to us, his face suddenly becoming serious. "Now I have to ask, we all know the story that binds you two together," he starts. I tense even though I was expecting this. "Maybe that was the reason behind some of your _differences_ of opinion? And if so, how did you move past that to become such a team? To win the Games?" he asks enthusiastically.

My muscles strain uncomfortably, and I frantically search for something to say.

"You know, Caesar," Cato begins and I snap out of my daze. I'm glad he's going first. He's trained for this. He knows what he's doing. "I've wanted this for a long time—the opportunity to bring pride to my district: the opportunity to be a Vvictor. At first, I didn't think Briar wanted it as much as I did, but I don't know if I've ever met someone who meets a challenge quite like she does," he finishes.

He may know what he's doing, but I don't. I can't breathe for a second because Cato didn't just make us equal—he complimented me. But it's not just that. For someone like Cato, who's been taught that the ability to fight is the most important thing in the world, it's the highest form of praise. I can't help but stare at him, something weird like understanding warming my chest. He's been all charm today though, and I want to see his face to see if he's as sincere as he sounds. He doesn't look at me though. The only thing I see is Demetrius' grim face somewhere off to the side, and I have to look away when Caesar starts talking again.

"That's very true," he says. "Now, don't take this the wrong way, Briar, but I must say that your tenacity was both a surprise and quite inspiring."

I blush, and I suddenly feel the need to repay Cato for his words. "I was just trying to make it out alive," I tell him. "And the truth is, Caesar, I never could have done it without Cato. I know we fought a lot, but tensions run high in the arena, and I'm glad we both made it out. I really didn't want to die," I say, hoping the blood rushing to my cheeks isn't too obvious to everyone in Panem. I'm not joking, but both Caesar and Cato chuckle, so I smile along.

Caesar goes on a tangent about all of our injuries, moving through our time in the arena. It feels like forever before he finally gets to the finale.

"Now, I must say, that finale, in my opinion, was one of the most dramatic I've seen in the Games. When the first cannon went off and no one knew who it was for, my heart stopped. Cato, how did you feel when you heard that sound, and then saw Briar laying there?"

Cato straightens a little in his seat, but he doesn't move his arm from behind me. I can feel his body heat seeping through my dress, and I try not to send him a weird look, because I'm still not sure why he put his arm there.

"It's hard to say. I knew that she was going to have trouble because I saw how bad her concussion was. But I was determined to win—that we'd both win. And like I said before, I knew she could rise to the challenge, so it really just pushed me harder to win. It was a relief to know it wasn't her."

Caesar looks oddly touched by the comment, while I try my hardest to keep a straight face. I never know what I'm going to get out of Cato, and he's just making me more confused. I glance up at him, and this time, he looks over to me. I swallow heavily, and we both look away.

Caesar takes that as an opening to talk about what is was like for Cato to win and follow in his brother's footsteps. There's nothing for me to say, and I'm extremely grateful because I can't stop thinking about what Cato said and if I think he meant it or not. Did he really not want me to die? It seems unbelievable, but then again, I didn't want him to die. I've already decided that I don't think he's a terrible person, so should it be that hard to believe? Even though I try to ignore it, I can feel something like hope seep into me. I don't get how it came to this: how I've found myself hoping that Cato doesn't hate me. I don't like feeling this way at all.

"Unfortunately," Caesar says, bringing my attention back to the interview, "it seems like we only have time for one more question. So where do you two go from here now that you'll be returning to your home districts? Will you keep in touch?"

"Yes," I hear Cato answer before I even have a chance to think about it. I try to keep my face neutral, so that no one realizes how that's taken me by surprise.

"So this has been discussed?"

"Yeah. Hopefully, we'll both have phones, so it shouldn't be too hard," Cato says, and I have the distinct feeling that he's planned this out.

Well actually, it's not a feeling. It's more like a fact because we haven't talked about this. We've barely had a conversation since leaving the arena. He looks so sure in what he's saying though, that I can't help but nod along. And when Caesar looks to me for agreement, I give it.

"We'll definitely stay in touch. That's what friends do," I say, trying not to look horrified at my words. Are we friends?

"And we'll see each other in a few months for the victory tour, so it shouldn't be too bad," Cato finishes, tacking on a smile that I mirror.

Caesar smiles and says something about being pleased at how this turned out, and then he signs off. As soon as he gets up and walks away, I turn to Cato, my eyes narrowing.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"You were… you were being weird," I finally get out, because I really don't know how to describe it.

He tilts his head to the side, looking slightly amused. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"You were being… I don't know. You were being all nice and stuff."

"Would you have preferred I be mean?" he asks, looking a little confused.

"Well no, but… did you really not want me to die?" My eyes widen as soon as the words leave my mouth, because I didn't mean to say that out loud.

He looks taken aback for a moment, like he didn't expect that either. He shrugs and glances away. "Did you really not want me to?"

We sit there in silence for what feels like minutes. It answers the question for both of us, saying the 'yes' that neither of us can speak. I want to ask him why, but I don't get a chance. Demetrius calls him over and he's gone, telling me he'll see me at the train station.

Slowly, I make my way over to Haymitch. He barely notices me at first because he's watching Cato with a calculated look in his eye. I'm getting really tired of being confused, and this isn't really helping.

"You did good, kid," Haymitch says, finally looking at me.

He glances back towards district Two, and the confusion and restlessness bubbles over. "What's going on Haymitch?"

"What do you mean?" He has the nerve to look confused.

"Everyone's acting strangely. You. Cato. Even Katniss and Peeta. What's going on?" I repeat.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he says, making his way back to our floor.

"Stop lying to me," I say, ignoring the twinge of desperation in my voice. He doesn't stop walking, but I do. "Snow said something to me."

That gets him to stop. He turns to me, a frown settling on his features. "What did he say?"

I'm afraid to say the words to him, because I'm afraid that I'm right.

"What did he say?" he asks again, his voice sounding impatient. And maybe a touch concerned.

I take a deep breath. "He told me that a lot of people in the Capitol went out of their way to support me, and that… and that he hopes I can find a way to make it up to them in the future."

Haymitch curses under his breath and then pulls me forward. We don't stop until we're in the bathroom and he's turned on every water source in the place.

"He's not happy, is he?" I say. I can feel the panic building in my chest, making it difficult to breathe.

"No, he's not."

I stand there dumbly for a second, trying to figure out why. The announcement of the Quarter Quell comes rushing back to me and so do the images from last night, and it hits me suddenly.

"The rumors are true, aren't they? The districts are rebelling," I whisper. Katniss and Peeta really did spur this.

He nods, and the flood of emotion is overwhelming. I don't know if I should feel happy or afraid. But Snow's open threat tells me it's the latter.

"But I… I didn't do anything," I say frantically. "I didn't rebel, I didn't say anything. I'm not Katniss. I didn't do anything special."

"But you fed it!" he whispers back. "You and that boy from Two."

"But how, Haymitch? I wasn't trying to—"

"By surviving," he says.

I have nothing to say to that because there's no way I can fix this. I have no excuse like Katniss and Peeta did, and neither does Cato. He should have killed me. At least that's how Snow sees it.

"You were talking to Heavensbee. You knew he wasn't happy about how the Games ended, didn't you?"

He nods.

My head spins.

"I can't fix this, can I?"

"No, kid, you can't. As long as the both of you are alive, there's a problem." Haymitch glances at the clock on the wall, and goes to turn the water off. "Come on. We need to get on the train."

I move on autopilot from there, because I can't think of anything but our conversation. ' _You fed it_ ,' he said. He's right. As long as we're both alive, Snow won't be happy because if we're friends, we're united against the Capitol, and if we're not, I'm the rebellion and Cato's the Capitol, and it solves nothing. I thought that maybe this once, I had won. But I was wrong. I've just exchanged one game for another.

There aren't many people in the station when we arrive, only a few cameras to film our departure, and I'm glad because there's only one person I need to find. I can see his blond hair clearly above the other people, and he must see me too, because he begins walking towards me. I speed up, because I know I'm going to get pulled onto the train any second.

"So this is it for now," he says when we finally meet.

I nod, trying to work up the courage to say what needs to be said. I owe him that. "Did you mean it when you said we'd keep in touch?" I ask, even though it's not what I really want to say. I don't know how I can tell him with all of these people around. I am curious about the answer though.

"If you want," he says.

"I do," I tell him immediately, surprising both of us.

"Okay."

"Briar, we need to go," I hear Peeta say from behind me.

I'm running out of time, and if I don't do it now, I don't know if I'll ever get the chance. So I do the only thing I can think of. I throw my arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He rocks slightly, obviously not expecting this. I feel his arms wrap tentatively around my waist, and I know I only have a few more seconds.

"Snow threatened me," I whisper against him. He tenses, but I keep going. "He's not happy. Be careful."

I pull back when someone clears their throat, but I'm too scared to be embarrassed. I stare at him for a moment, hoping he understands what I'm saying. I see recognition in his eyes, and I breath out a sigh of relief.

"Time to go," Effie says cheerily.

My time in the Capitol is up.

"Take care," Cato says, and I think it's the most sincere I've ever heard him.

I nod and say, "You too," before we're ushered in separate directions and onto separate trains.

The train begins to move, and everything begins to blur together, leaving the Capitol behind me. The whole day is blur, because I can't think of anything but home and the people I want to see. Before I know it, I can see the trees that have become so familiar and hear the cheers that haven't. People wait outside, people waiting for me, and the first remnants of peace settle in my chest since this all started. The doors slide apart, and I take a deep breath. Then I take my first step home.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **So there it is guys, the final chapter. So it turns out Briar is alive... how do you guys feel about that? I'm working on a sequel right now, but it probably won't be out until next fall at the earliest. Like I said last week, I plan on doing some one-shots if people are interested, so feel free to send me suggestions! But keep in mind, since I'm doing a sequel, keep the suggestions to before a few weeks after Briar returns home because that may or may not be where the sequel takes off...**

 **lovewords: Ahhh, you're reviews made my night! You'll just have to wait and see how Briar and Cato's relationship plays out, and how she deals with the aftermath of the games.**

 **SylviaHunterOfArtemis: Yup, she's alive! For a while, I did play around with killing her, but ultimately, I became more interested in telling the story of someone who has to deal with the revolution without being in the spotlight like Katniss, so here we are.**

 **Mely-the-Mockingjay: ahahahahahaha the suspense! I'm not typically good at it, so I'm glad I pulled it off this time.**

 **Peace-n'-Luv-4601: Ah, don't die! I hope you survived and are feeling better now that the suspense is over.**

 **WhiteEevee: I was pretty happy with the dream sequence, not gonna lie... Breaking the finger... yeah, a little aggressive, but that's how Cato is. At least it worked. Sassy Cato and Briar are my fave. Those are some of my favorite things to write.**

 **ThatGirl: You don't have to miss me too much! I'll try be around as much as possible. Let me know if there's anything you want to see!**

 **deslashshipper: Oh my gosh, that's one the best things anyone has ever written me. You're inspiration?! Oh man, thank you. I can't even explain how big of compliment that is 3**

 **AlphaZero21: haha glad you came back around just for the suspense**

 **Anyway guys, I can't say how much I appreciate all the amazing comments, support, and reactions I've gotten for this story. As my first foray into writing, you guys have really inspired me to keep going and to try new things. Hope you all enjoyed this journey as much as I did! THANK YOU 3**


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